
Class 



t 



.."• >» A 



Book 



SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT 



' : 



f 







Mr. Clay's Overseer outwitted. 



See 1'age 62. 



V, 



• f 



THE KIDNAPPED 



AND 



THE RANSOMED. 

BEING THE PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

PETER STILL AND HIS WIFE "VIM," 



AFTER FORTY" YEARS OF SLAVERY. 



BY 

MRS. KATE E. B, PICKARD 



(Ldlitlj mx Introduction:, 
'>>/ BY REV. SAMUEL J. MAY; 

Qixii ait g^peitfri*, 

BY WILLIAM H. FURNESS, D.D 



SYRACUSE: 
WILLIAM T . HA M I L T O N 

NEW YORK AND AUBURN : 

MILLER, ORTON AND MULLIGAN. 
1856. 



85 



Entered according to Act of CoDgress, in the year One Thousand Eight Hundred 

and Fifty-six, by 

WILLIAM T. HAMILTON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of New York. 



E. O. JENKINS, 

printer nub ^tcreot.np^r, 

No. 26 Frankfort Street. 



OF 

LUVIN STILL; 

AND OF 

ALL THE BRAVE-HEARTED MEN AND WOMEN, 
WHO LIKE HIM HAVE FALLEN, EVEN WHILE LONGLNG TO BE FREE, 

AXD 

WHO NOW LIE IN NAMELESS, UNKNOWN GRAVES, 

%\t Victims of gwicrirau JSlafarg, 
THIS VOLUME 

IS DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 



'TEE KIDNAPPER. 



First Recollections— The Kidnapper— The Journey to Kentucky— Levin and Peter 

Sold to John Fisher, of Lexington - • - • - - -25 



CHAPTER II. 

EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 

Characteristics of the Master and Mistress— Treatment of the Young Slaves- 
Peter's Visits at Ashland— Friendship of the Sons of Henry Clay— A bright 
Hope— The Disappointment— Peter Sent to the Brickyard— Standing in the 
Wheelbarrow - - - • - • - - • -31 



CHAPTER III. 



MASTER NATTIE 



Peter and Levin again Sold— Characteristics of Master Nattie Gist— His Discip- 
line—The Sunday-School - - 37 



CHAPTER IY. 

TnE TOBACCO FACTORY. 

Mr. George Norton — Mr. Kisich— Longings for Freedom- Spencer Williams- 
Peter's Combat with Mr. Norton -....-- 43 

[vii] 



V1U CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE SEPARATION. 

Excitement at Master Nattie's— Preparations for Removal— Master Nattie's 
Good Bye— Levin's Departure— Peter enters the Service of Mr. John D. 
Young— Evenings at Mr. Clay's— Aaron, the Coachman - - • f>G 



CHAPTER VI. 

MASTER NATTIE ? S DEATH. 

Peter is sent to the Plantation— Master Andrew returns Jrom Alabama— Master 
Nattie's Illness— His Death— The Will— Aunt Mary's Contumacy - - C6 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 



Peter leaves Lexington— Scenes by the Way— Holidays at Hopkinsville— Arriva 1 
at Bainbridge— The Brothers re-united ...... 70 



CHAPTER VIII. 

FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 

New Scenes and new Employments— The Post Office — Sunday Employment of the 
Slaves— Master Levi Buys a Plantation— He Marries — Peter a House-Ser- 
vant—Kindness of his young Mistress— The Visit to Nashville— Peter's Re- 
flections and Resolutions at Twenty-one— Master Levi removes to the Plan- 
tation—The " Great House" .------- 77 



CHAPTER IX. 



LEVIN S MARRIAGE 



The Master's Opposition— Old Jimmy Hogun's Plantation — Levin and Fanny 
are married— Displeasure of the Master and Mistress— Consequent Persecu- 
cutions ........... 80 



CONTENTS. xi 



CHAPTER X. 

vina's early history. 

The Foxall Family— Invitation to Alabama— Aunt Sally— Silas separated from 
his Family— Mr. Foxall's Removal to Alabama— The Failure— Vina is sold— 
She leaves Courtland— A sad Ride ------- gg 

CHAPTER XI. 

VIXA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 

Vina's Introduction to the Kitchen— First Interview with her new Master and 
Mistress— House Service— Sad Hours— Vina's first Whipping— She goes to 
the Field— Visit of Mr. Stout— Rosetta goes to Nashville— Vina visits her 
Mother - - - - - ... . . .97 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

Peter and Vina become acquainted— Their growing Attachment— Peter hesitates 
to Marry— He declines going to Lexington— The Departure of his Master 
and Mistress— Peter and Vina are married— Vina's Clothing— Her second 
Visit to her Mother -..-..... jgg 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE NEW CABIN. 

The Return from Lexington— Master Levi proposes in vain to buy Vina— Mr. 
McKiernan removes to Bainbridge— Peter builds his Cabin— The Furni- 
ture—He learns Shoemaking— The Flour-Barrel - - - . - 115 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE YOUNG MOTHER. 

Advent of Little Peter— Rest of the Slave— Mother at night— Her Sundays— 

The Patch— Brutality of Simms, the Overseer— Vina's Illness - - 121 

CHAPTER XV. 

DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 

Master Levi again visits Lexington— Preparations for the Return— A Death 
Scene— The Widowed Mistress comes Home— Grief of the Slaves— Arrange- 
ments of tte Estate— The Mistress nobly protects her servants - - 129 



Xll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

levin's death. 

Levin's Health Fails— His religious Feeling— The Death bed— The Burial— Peter's 

Hope crushed .... ----- 135 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. 

Aunt Sally's Troubles-Threatened Separation of Families— Mr. Peoples removes 
his working Hands to Florida— Their Return— Aunt Sally's Visit to her 
Daughter— Aspect of Vina's Cabin - 138 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

a slave-mother's good bye. 

Gathering in the Crops— Grief in the Quarter— Preparations for Removal to the 
Coast— Aunt Sally parts with Quail— The Flat-boats stop at Bainbridge— 
Vina is summoned by Master Andrew to see her Mother— Night Scene on 
the River Bank— The final Separation— Journey down the River— The Sugar 
Farm— Mr. Peoples returns to Mississippi— Aunt Sally's Death - - 113 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 

Mrs. Gist married to Mr. J. Hogun— Division of the Slaves— Mrs. Hogun goes to 
her new Home— A Peep at Mr- Hogun's Plantation— Peter as Head Man- 
Gist Plantation Sold ,--...... jgj 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE PLANTATION " BROKEN UP." 

Peter hired to Mr. Threat— An Instance of Female Chivalry— The Political Ex- 
citement of 1840— Its Effects upon the Slaves-Peter is hired to Mr. Kier- 
n an - 157 

CHAPTER XXI. 

BABY-LIFE IN THE CABINS. 

Vina's care of her Children— Mortality among the Infants— Burning of Ann's 

Child— Consequences of being »' Pushed in the Morning" - - 163 



CONTEXTS. XI 11 

CHAPTER XXII. 

FACTS. 

Character of Mrs. and Mr. McKiernan— Tina's Contest with her Master— The 
Lost Shirt— Maria's Confinement in the Srnoke-House— Released by Master 
Charles 167 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

peter's year at Mckiebnan's. 



General Aspect of McKiernan's Plantation— Sketch of Vina's Family in 1841 — 
Tina's Industry and Economy — Punishment of Ann Eliza — Religious Ex- 
citement - .-..--.-. 175 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

burton's reign. 

Personal Appearance of McKiernan's Slaves— Burton's opening Speech — Rebel- 
lion of Lewis— His Punishment— He flees to the Woods, where he is Joined 
by two Companions — Young Peter's Toothache — Hunting the Runaways 
with Dogs — Frank and Old Man John brought in — Frank's Punishment— Re- 
turn of Lewis— The Master hands him over to Burton — Peculiar Luxury of 
an Overseer — Scene in Lewis' Cabin— The Runaway's Irons— Burton shoots 
Abram— Ruined Crops — McKieruan becomes Dissatisfied — Burton De- 
posed - • - - • 1S2 

CHAPTER XXV. 

FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 
A Northern man as Master— Peter physically comfortable— Visits to the Cabin — 
Marriage of Miss Sarah Gist— Division of the Slaves among the Heirs of 
the Estate — Peter hired to Rev. Mr. Stedman — Varied Duties — The Pastor's 
Family— Peter hired to Mr. John Pollock— Goes to Nashville to the Whig 
Convention of 1814 — Camping Out— Scenes in the City— Fruitless Efforts to 
Escape from Slavery— Peter hired to Mr. Brady— A new Drop of Bitterness 
in the Slave-Cup - 193 

CHAPTER XXYI. 

PETER HIRES HIS TIME. 
Peter hired to Mr. Allan Pollock— Private Business Arrangements— Success In 
earning Money— Consequent Hopes of Freedom— Peter hired to Mr. Joseph 
Friedman— Increasing Confidence in the Integrity of the Jew Brothers- 
Employment at the Seminary— Hired for another Year by Mr. Friedman 209 



XIV CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 

Peter Communicates his Wish for Freedom to the Jew— Mr. Friedman proposes 
to purchase him — Peter strives to Persuade his Young Master to sell him 
to the Jew— Circumstances Change — The sale Effected— Scene in the Coun- 
ting-Room — Sympathy of the Tuscumbians — Generosity of Mr. Friedman — 
Death of Peter's youngest Son— Peter makes his last payment, and re- 
ceives a Bill of Sale of Himself— Cautious Concealment of the Fact that He 
was Free— Preparations forgoing North — Tuscumbians excited — Farewell 
Visit to the Cabin at Bainbridge • - - 219 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JOURNEY TO PHILADELPHIA. 

Peter leaves Tuscumbia — Emotions on touching the Free Soil of Ohio — Communi- 
cates to his late Master his early History— Leaves for Philadelphia— At- 
tempts of Slave-Catchers to entrap Him— Journey over the Mountains- 
Arrival at Philadelphia --------- 237 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE KIDNAPPED BOY RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 

Peter's Search for his Kindred— The Anti-Slavery Office— A Brother Found- 
Doubts and Fears — Recognized by a Sister — An anxious Night — Sail up the 
Delaware — Sees Levin's Likeness in a Brother— Meets his Mother - - 245 



CHAPTER XXX. 

peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 

Peter goes to Cincinnati— Receives Free Papers— Returns to Tuscumbia— Reports 
of the Abolitionists— Visit to Bainbridge— Peter resumes his Labors— Pre- 
parations for a final Departure from Slave-Land— Parting with his Family 
—Difficulties at Padusah — Visit to a l'ouug Master in Louisville — Journeys 
safely to Philadelphia ----..-.. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE ESCAPE. 

Peter consults with his Friends concerning the Ransom of his Family— Seth 
Concklin Volunteers to Rescue them— Sketch of Concklin's Character— His 
Journey to South Florence— Interview with Vina— Meets Young Peter and 



CONTEXTS. XV 

Levin — Returns to Louisville to complete his Arrangements— Vina and her 
Family obtain Passes — They meet Concklin at the Skiff— Rowing down the 
River— They Land at New Harmony, Indiana— Incidents of Travel in a 
Free State - 279 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE CAPTURE. 

The Cottage Besieged— Slave-Catching made Easy— The Jail— Concklin's rash 
Fidelity— The Telegraph— Concklin Imprisoned— Arrival of McKiernan 
at the Jail — Return to Slave-Land — Concklin missed from the Boat — The 
Mistress of the Hotel at Paducah, proposes to buy the Fugitives - - 296 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 

Evil Tidings— Reminiscences of Slavery— Peter Resolves upon Purchasing his 
Family— Visit3 Cincinnati — Kindness of Mrs. Chase — Peter returns to 
New Jersey— Goes into Service— Letter from Mr. McKiernan— Efforts to 
find an Old Acquaintance— Mr. Thornton's Letter— Peter Resolves on Start- 
ing out to Raise Money ---------307 

CHAPTER XXXIY. 

"HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?' 

Peter starts on his Travels— Testimonials from his Employers in Burlington- 
He visits his Brother in Brooklyn— Goes to Syracuse— Succeeds in finding 
an Old Friend, who testifies to his good Character while a Slave— Goes 
thence to Auburn, "Waterloo, and Rochester, N. Y.— To Boston and various 
Towns in that vicinity— Visits all the principal Towns in Maine and New 
Hampshire— Returns to Burlington, and visits Philadelphia— Again to Sy- 
racuse, Peterboro', Boston, Worcester, Fall River, Providence, New York 
City— Returns to Burlington— Vists Albany, N. Y., Pittsfield, Mass., New 
Haven, Ct., Hartford, Middletown, New London, Northampton, Mass., Sy- 
racuse, Buffalo, Toronto, C. W., Camillus, N. Y.— Returns to Burlington- 
Money placed in the the Hands of Mr. Hallowell, of Philadelphia— Agent 
sent to Alabama to purchase the Family • - - - - - 3l3 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

EXPERIENCE OF THE RETURNED FUGITIVES. 

The Return of the Fugitives to the Pillaged Cabin— Punishment— -Vina and 
Catharine Separated— The Barbacue— Young Peter's Marriage— Susanna's 
First Baby— Advent of little Peter— Susanna's failing Health— Her Death 339 



xvi CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

" THEY TAKE GOOD CARE OF TIIEIR PROPERTY." 

The Runaways Questioned Concerning the Route to the North— Tina's Lecture 
to her Master— Sale of the Produce of the Patches— Christmas Ride to 
Town— "Craps" at a Discount— Vina Invited Home from the Island— 
Ddphia— Leah - - - - 8H 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE RE-TJNION. 

Vina Returns to the Island— Glad Tidings— Killing Hogs— McKiernan comes to 
the Island— The Ransomed Family leave the Plantation— Business Arrange- 
ments with the Master— Young Peter inquires the Price of his Baby— Diffi- 
culties in transporting Property in a Northerly Direction— The Family Re- 
united>-Hospitality of the Citizens of Cincinnati— Yisit at Pittsburg— Arri- 
val of the Family at Burlington, their future Home— Yisit to Peter's aged 
Mother— Marriage Certificate - • - 303 



INTRODUCTION. 



Within the last four years, many hundreds, proba- 
bly thousands, of persons in our nominally free States, 
have seen Peter Still, a neat, staid black man, going 
from city to city, town to town, house to house, asking 
assistance to enable him to purchase the freedom of his 
wife and children. He has always been grateful for the 
smallest favors, and never morose when utterly denied. 
He has not obtruded himself or his story ; but those 
who have shown curiosity enough to make any in- 
quiries, have been soon led to suspect that he was no 
common man ; that the events of his life had been 
thrillingly interesting — some of them even more won- 
derful than Ave often meet with in works of fiction. 
Kidnapped, in his early childhood, from the door-step 

[xvii] 



XV111 INTRODUCTION. 

of his home in New Jersey ; more than forty years a 
slave in Kentueky and Alabama ; his unsuccessful ap- 
peal»to the great Henry Clay ; his liberation through 
the generosity of a Jew ; his restoration to his mother 
by the guidance of the slightest threads of memory ; 
the yearning of his heart for his loved ones; the 
heroic but disastrous attempt of Concklin to bring his 
wife and children to him — wherever these incidents 
of his life were detailed, they seldom failed to draw 
from the hand of the listener some contribution to- 
wards the exorbitant sum demanded for the liberation 
of his family. 

Words of discouragement, even from his warmest 
friends, fell without weight on the heart of Peter Still. 
Arguments, sometimes urged against the propriety of 
paying, especially an exorbitant price, for liberty, 
were parried by him with a skill not to be acquired in 
"The Schools." His soul was intent upon a great 
purpose. He could not be withheld ; he could not be 
turned aside. His perseverance, his patience, his ex- 
actness, his tact, everywhere attracted attention, and 
often commanded respect. In less than three years, 
his wife and children were restored to him ; and, after 
a few weeks spent in seeing and being seen by friends 
and relatives, they all settled themselves in employ- 



INTRODUCTION. XIX 

ments, by which they are earning comfortable liveli- 
hoods, and laying the foundation of future indepen- 
dence. 

It was thought, by most of those who had heard the 
histories of Peter Still and Seth Concklin, that such 
histories ought not to remain unwritten or unpublished. 
It was believed that good narratives of both of these 
remarkable men, would give to the people of the 
Northern States some new illustrations of the horrors 
of that "peculiar institution," which has well-nigh 
subjugated to itself our entire Republic. 

It so happened that a lady was at hand, singularly 
qualified for the former and larger part of the task, 
not only by her ability as a Writer, but by her per- 
sonal acquaintance with Peter Still, while he was in 
bondage. Mrs. Pickard had lived several years in the 
very town, or neighborhood, where most of the events 
transpired that would come into the narrative. She 
knew personally many of the individuals, who had 
acted conspicuous parts in the tragedy she was called 
upon to write. Moreover, she had conceived a very 
just appreciation of the character of this man and 
woman, who, under the laws of our country, had been 
subjected to all that domestic servitude can do to 
imbrute human beings, and yet retained so much that 



XX INTRODUCTION. 

is distinctive of the best specimens of our race. She 
was therefore persuaded to undertake the work, which 
is now given to the public. 

The writer of this narrative was a highly esteemed 
teacher in the Female Seminary of Tuscumbia, Ala- 
bama. There Peter Still was employed in several 
menial o Sices, and was subject to her observation 
every day for many months. She often admired his 
untiring diligence, his cheerful patience, his eagerness 
to get work rather than to avoid it, and his earnest 
gratefulness for the perquisites that were frequently 
bestowed upon him by the many, whom he served in 
various ways, and served so well. Little did she suspect 
what was the mainspring of the intense life that she wit- 
nessed in the poor slave-man, who seemed to her to have 
so little to live for. She did not know that (as he has 
since told her) he was" hungering and thirsting after lib- 
erty," which had been promised him by a compassion- 
ate Jew, w r ho then owned him, for a sum that it seemed 
possible for him to accumulate. It was that hunger and 
thirst which filled " Uncle Peter" with all the graces, 
and brought him all the gifts, that he needed to attain 
the object of his heart's desire. He had long been 
known, and universally respected and loved, in the 
town where he lived. Everybody believed that what 



INTRODUCTION. X xi 

Uncle Peter said was true ; and that every duty im- 
posed upon him would be faithfully discharged. But 
the amount of labor that he was then accustomed to 
perform had come to be a matter of frequent remark 
and admiration. Some attributed his severe toil to 
the requirements of his Jew master. They had yet to 
learn, that there is a harder driver than any Jewish or 
Christian slaveholder, even the man's own spirit, when 
the priceless boon of liberty is set before him, as an 
incitement to exertion. 

We can promise the lovers of exciting adventure 
very much in the ensuing volume to gratify their 
taste ; and all those who really desire to fathom the 
heights and depths of that Iniquity which is threaten- 
ing the destruction of our Kepublic, may turn to these 
pages, in the assurance that they will find in them a 
great amount and variety of information, derived from 
the most authentic sources, and given with the strictest 
regard to truth. 

In this narrative will also be found, incidentally, 
but very clearly given, intimations of many excel- 
lences that are latent, as well as lively sketches of some 
that are patent, in the negro variety of our race — in- 
deed, all the qualities of our common, and of our 
uncommon humanity — persistence in the pursuit of a 



Xxii INTRODUCTION, 

desired object; ingenuity in the device of plans for its 
attainment ; self-possession and self-command that can 
long keep a cherished purpose unrevealed; a deep, 
instinctive faith in God; a patience under hardship 
and hope deferred, which never dies ; and, withal, a 
joyousness which, like a life-preserver, bears one above 
the dark waves of unparalleled trouble 

The latter and smaller portion of this volume — the 
Sketch of the Life of Seth Concklin — was written by 
a gentleman who has long held so high a place among 
American authors, that we shall not presume to give 
him our commendation. That Dr. Wm. IT. Fnrness, 
of Philadelphia, deemed the merits of Seth Concklin to 
be such as to deserve a tribute from his pen, must be 
a sufficient assurance that the subject of this sketch 
had evinced traits of character, and done deeds, or en- 
dured trials, worthy of commemoration. Those who 
know that Dr. Furness never touches anything that he 
does not adorn, will go to the perusal of his portion of 
this book, in the confident expectation of being de- 
lighted with the unaffected beauty of the sketch, and 
of having their sympathies and better feelings made 
to flow in unison with those of the true-hearted author. 
They will close the volume with gratitude to Dr. F., 
for having rescued from oblivion, and placed before 



INTRODUCTION. XX111 

his countrymen, another well-authenticated example 
of successful conflict with appalling difficulties in early 
life ; of unwavering fidelity to right principles, in the 
midst of great temptations ; and of heroic, disinterested 
self-sacrifice in the cause of suffering humanity. 

SAMUEL J. MAY. 
Syracuse, Feb. 14,1856. 



THE 



KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE KIDNAPPER. 

Late in the afternoon of a pleasant summer day, 
two little bo}^s were playing before the door of their 
mother's cottage. They were apparently about six or 
eight years old, and though their faces wore a dusky 
hue, their hearts were gay, and their laugh rang out 
clear and free. 

Their dress was coarse, and in no wise restrained the 
motions of their agile limbs, for it consisted merely of 
a cotton shirt, reaching no lower than the knee. 

How they ran races down the road, and turned sum- 
mersets on the green grass ! How their eyes danced 
with merriment, and their white teeth glistened in the 
pleasant light ! 

But as the day wore on they grew weary, and with, 
childhood's first impulse, sought their mother. She 
was not in the house. All there was still and lonely. 
In one corner stood her bed, covered with a clean 
blanket, and the baby's cradle was empty by its side. 
Grandmother's bed, in another corner of the room, 
was made up nicely, and every article of the simple 
furniture was in its accustomed place. "Where' could 
they all have gone ? 

"I reckon," said Levin, "mammy's gone to church. 

2 (25) 



26 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

The preachin' must be mighty long ! ! I's so hongry ! 
I's gwine to meetin' to see if she's thar." 

The " church" stood in the woods, about a mile oft. 
It was an old white building that had formerly been 
occupied by the family of S. G., who now lived in a 
large brick house close by. The boys had often been 
at the church with their father, who kept the key of 
the building, and opened it for worship on Sundays, 
and prayer-meeting nights. 

"You better not go thar, I reckon," replied Peter, 
the younger of the two boys, " Mammy '11 whip you 
well if you goes to foller her to meetin', and all about." 

'-Mammy! O Mammy!" 

Thus they called their mother, and cried because 
she did not answer, till their eyes were swollen, and 
their pleasant play forgotten. 

Soon the sound of wheels diverted them for a mo- 
ment from their childish grief, and looking up the 
road, they saw a handsome gig approaching. Its only 
occupant was a tall dark man, with black and glossy 
hair, which fell heavily below his white hat. 

He looked earnestly at the little boys as he ap- 
proached, and marking their evident distress, he 
checked his horse, and kindly asked the cause of their 
sorrow. 

" Oh ! Mammy's done gone off, and there's nobody 
to give us our supper, and we're so hongry." 

"Where is vour mother?"* 

"Don't know, sir," replied Levin, "but I reckon 
she's gone to church," 

"Well, don't you want to ride? Jump up here 
with me, and I'll take you to your mother. I'm just 
going to church. Come! quick! What! no clothes 



THE ODXAPPEK. 27 

but a shirt? Go in and get a blanket. It will be 
nidht soon, and you will be cold." 

Away they both ran for a blanket. Levin seized 
one from his mother's bed, and in his haste pushed the 
door against his brother, who was robbing his grand- 
mother's couch of its covering. 

The blanket was large, and little Peter, crying all 
the while, was repeatedly tripped by its falling under 
his feet while he was running to the gig. 

The stranger lifted them up, and placing them be- 
tween his feet, covered them carefully with the blankets, 
that they might not be cold. He spoke kindly to them, 
meanwhile, still assuring them that he would soon take 
them to their mother. 

Away they went very swiftly, rejoicing in their 
childish hearts to think how their mother would won- 
der when she should see them coming. 

After riding for some time. — how long they could 
not guess — they suddenly upset in the water with a 
great splash. The strange man had, in his haste, driven 
too near the bank of the river, and the slight vehicle 
had thus been overturned. He soon rescued the chil- 
dren from the water. They were much frightened, 
but nothing was injured by the accident, and in a few 
minutes they were once more covered with the blankets, 
and frving along the river bank faster even than before. 

TVhen the gig stopped again, the sun was just - - 
ting. They were at the water side, and before them 
lav many boats, and vessels of different kinds. They 
had never seen anything like these before, but they 
had short time to gratify their childish curiosity ; for 
they were hurried on board a boat, which left the shore 
immediately. 



28 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

With tlie assurance that they should now find their 
mother, they trusted implicitly in their new-made 
friend ; who strengthened their confidence in himself 
by gentle words and timely gifts. Cakes of marvellous 
sweetness were ever ready for them, if they grew im- 
patient of the length of the journey ; and their child- 
ish hearts could know no distrust of one whose words 
and acts were kind. 

How long they were on the boat they did not know ; 
nor by what other means they travelled could they 
afterwards remember, until they reached Versailles, 
Kentucky. Here their self-constituted guardian, whom 
they now heard addressed as Kincaid, placed them in a 
wagon with a colored woman and her child, and con- 
veyed them to Lexington. 

This was the first town they had ever seen, and as 
they were conducted up Main street, they were filled 
with wonder and admiration. 

Kincaid took them to a plain brick house where 
dwelt one John Fisher, a mason by trade, and proprie- 
tor of a large brick yard. 

After some conversation between the gentlemen, 
which of course the children did not understand, 
they were taken out to the kitchen, and presented to 
Aunt Betty, the cook. 

"There, my boys," said Kincaid, "there is your 
mother — we've found her at last." 

"No! no!" they shrieked, "that's not our mother! 
O, please, sir ! take us back !" With tears and cries 
they clung to him who had abused their guileless 
trust, and begged him not to leave them there. 

This scene was soon ended by John Fisher himself, 
who, with a hearty blow on each cheek, bade them 



THE KIDNAPPER. 29 

"hush !" " You belong to me now, you little rascals, 
and I'll have no more of this. There's Aunt Betty, 
she's your mammy now; and if you behave your- 
selves, she'll be good to you." 

Kineaid soon departed, and they never saw him 
again. They learned, however, from a white appren- 
tice, who lived in the house, that he received from Mr. 
Fisher one hundred and fifty-five dollars for Levin, 
and one hundred and fifty for Peter. 

Poor children ! what a heavy cloud now shadowed 
their young lives ! 

For the first few weeks they talked constantly of 
going back to their mother — except when their master 
was near. They soon learned that they must not 
mention the subject in his presence. 

He was, in the main, a kind, indulgent man — but 
were they not his money ? Why should he allow 
them to prate about being stolen, when he had bought 
them, and paid a right good price ? 

"Father," said John Fisher, junior, "isn't Phila- 
delphia in a free State ?" 

" Certainly — it is in Pennsjdvania." 

"Well, then, I reckon those two boys you bought 
were stolen, for they lived with their mother near the 
Delaware river ; and Aunt Betty says that is at Phila- 
delphia, It was too bad, father, for that man to steal 
them and sell them here, where they can never hear 
from their mother!" 

"Pooh, boy! don't talk like a fool! Most likely 
they were sold to Kineaid, and he told them he would 
take them to their mother, in order to get them away 
without any fuss. And even if he did steal them — so 
were all the negroes stolen at first. I bought these 



30 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

boys, and paid for them, and I'll stop tlieir talk about 
being free, or I'll break tlieir black necks. A pretty- 
tale that, to go about the country — -just to spoil the 
sale if I should happen to wish to get shut of them ! 
Free, indeed ! And what is a free nigger ? They're 
better off here than if they were free, growing up in 
idleness, and with nobody to take care of them." 

Before night the young offenders were thoroughly 
kicked and beaten, and received the assurance that 
they should be killed outright if they dared to tell 
such a tale again. So they grew cautious ; and spoke 
those sweet memories of home and mother only in 
whispers to each other, or to some fellow-slave that 
knew how to sympathize with their sorrows. 



CHAPTER II. 
KARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 

The long, hard lesson of slavery was now fairly 
open before our young students. In vain they shrank 
from its dreadful details. In vain they appealed for 
pity to their hard-handed master. Page after page of 
dark experiences shadowed their boyish eyes, and their 
young hearts, so merry hitherto, grew sad and anxious. 

The necessity of concealing the true feelings is 
among the rudiments of slavery's lore. A servant 
should be merry. A gloomy face is a perpetual com- 
plaint, and why should it be tolerated ? 

To this necessity the temperament of the African is 
most happily suited. Cheerful and warm-hearted, with 
an innate love of light and harmony, the slightest sym- 
pathy awakens his affection, and the faintest dawn of 
happiness provokes a smile. 

Levin and Peter were not long in divining, with the 
tact of childhood, their exact position, domestic and 
social. 

Their master was a large, fine looking man, with a 
free, hearty manner, and much real kindliness of dis- 
position. He never allowed this latter quality, how- 
ever, to interfere in business matters ; and as, in addi- 
tion to the business of brickmaking, he rented a large 
plantation about a mile out of town, he had no time 
to waste in unprofitable sentimentalities. How to get 

(31) 



32 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

the most work done with the least expense he regarded 
as a problem worthy of his attention, and his success 
in business proved that he considered it well. 

Mrs. Fisher was a stout, freckle-faced lady, plain 
and unpretending in her dress and manner, and per- 
fectly devoted to her husband and children. She had, 
at the time of which we speak, two boys, John and 
Sydney; and for the first three years that he lived 
with them, Peter was their constant playmate. Levin 
was sent to the brick-yard the second year after Fisher 
purchased them, he being at that time only nine years 
old. 

At night the little slave boys rolled themselves up 
in their blankets, and slept on the floor in their mis- 
tress' room. They often waked in the morning under 
the bed, or the bureau, where Mrs. Fisher had shoved 
them with her foot, the night previous — that they 
might be out of the way. They were comfortably 
clothed, well fed, and — if they said nothing of their 
mother's house on the Delaware river — kindly treated. 
But if a word on that forbidden subject reached their 
master's ear, he became a monster. By stripes and 
kicks he taught them that they had no right to that 
blessed memory, that they were his property, and that 
he possessed the power to quiet their restless tongues. 

The plantation which was rented by Mr. Fisher be- 
longed to Mrs. Russell, a widow lady, and lay about a 
mile from the city, across the road from the residence 
of Henry Clay. Here, while Peter was too young to 
work in the brick-yard, he was sent daily for the cows, 
and for vegetables from the garden ; and as he had 
plenty of leisure, he spent many happy hours in play- 
ing with the little colored children at Mr. Clay's. 



EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 33 

Frequently the merry group was joined by young 
Masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, and then the 
sport was liveliest. 

The heart of the little new-made slave glowed with 
love for these noble boys, and he soon confided to 
them his sad history ; and one day, when Mrs. Clay, 
as was her custom, spoke kindly to the dusk}?- playmate 
of her sons, he simply recited to her the story of his 
sorrows, and asked her if she did not think some one 
would send him back to his mother. 

She quieted him with cakes and other delicacies, to 
the palate of the child exceeding grateful, and then 
gently dismissed the children to their play. 

But the brave-hearted boys were young enough to 
long to do something for their little favorite, and bade 
him tell his story to their father, who, they assured 
him, would send him back. There was true Kentucky 
generosity in their breasts, and they felt sure their 
honored father could not fail to do his utmost to redress 
such a cruel wrong. 

" O Levin !" whispered Peter, the first time he was 
alone with his brother. "I reckon we'll go back to- 
reckly !" 

"Go back! whar?" 

"Why home, to see mother! Mass' Theodore Clay 
say, his father so good to evei^body, he know he'll 
send us back if we tell him how we got stole — says 
his father allers hope folks whar gits in trouble." 

" Mass' Theodore say so ? Reckon then we will, 
kase Mr. Clay mighty good to all his people. Hi! 
Mars John Fisher ! } t ou's gwine lose these chillerns !" 

And with comical grimaces, Levin cut a series of 



2* 



34 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

shuffles, indicating the confusion that awaited " Mars 
John." 

Not long after this conversation, Peter saw Mr. Clay 
standing near the court-house with a letter in his hand. 
His little heart bounded with hope as he ran towards 
him. 

" Mr. Clay !" he exclaimed, "I'm stole!" 

" Stole ? Who stole you, and where were you stolen 
from?" 

" I's stolen from my father and mother on Delaware 
river — folks say that's Philadelphia — but I don' know. 
Please, sir, won't you send me back to my mother?" 

" To whom do you belong?" 

" I 'long to Mars John Fisher, on Main street, and I 
wants to go back to my mother." 

" "Well, my boy, I have no time to talk to you now ; 
you carry this letter to Major Pope — you know where 
he lives — and then come back and I'll attend to you." 

Away ran the child dancing with delight, and cry- 
ing, "I's free! I's free! I's gwine to my mother!" 

"What is that you say?" asked a gentleman who 
met him. " I's gwine to be free ! Mr. Clay gwine to 
send me back to my mother, kase I was stole away 
from her !" 

" Now look here, you little negro," said the man, 
who knew the child, and understood the temper of his 
master, " you'd better not talk about that to Mr. Clay, 
for he will tell your master, and then old John Fisher 
will be sure to skin you." 

The bright vision that Hope had held before the 
trusting boy faded away. With drooping head and 
tearful eye he returned to tell his brother of their dis- 



EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 35 

appointment, and after that they both avoided Mr. 
Clay. 

Yet Hope did not desert them ; but whispered often 
in their eager ears — " You shall return ; your friends 
will come to seek you. You were born free, and slaves 
you shall not die I" 

When Peter was about nine years old, he too was 
employed in the brick-yard, as "off-bearer" Three 
thousand brick a day was the task for two boys ; and 
if one of them chanced to be by any means disabled, 
his companion must " off-bear" the whole. The moulder 
must not be hindered. 

These moulders — slaves themselves — were cruel 
tj^rants. The boys, though seldom abused by the 
master himself, were subject to all their caprices and 
passions. If one of inferior station failed to perform 
his task, they knew no mercy ; and their master per- 
mitted any punishment they chose to inflict. 

Their favorite mode of chastisement was called 
"standing in the wheelbarrow" The offender was 
placed with a foot on each side of the wheel, and com- 
pelled to reach over and grasp a handle in each hand ; 
and then the youngest boys — the " off-bearers"— were 
compelled to whip him with cowhides. If he woidd 
lie still, and take twenty-four lashes without attempt- 
ing to rise, that was deemed sufficient proof of his 
humility. But if he made an effort to change his 
position before that number was inflicted, the moulder 
who presided over the ceremony, and who counted 
off the strokes, commenced again at "one" and caused 
the twenty-four to be repeated. 

One day a large man, named Charles, was put into 
the wheelbarrow, and received over three hundred 



36 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

blows before he was sufficiently subdued to lie still, 
and take twenty-four without moving. The boys that 
were selected to inflict this horrible punishment (of 
whom Peter was one) were all trembling with terror ; 
but if one of them, through pit}^, failed to strike with 
his utmost strength, the moulder, who stood aside 
with a cowhide, punished his merciful folly by a vio- 
lent blow upon his own back. 

Amid such scenes passed the childhood of these 
hapless boys. Their natural cheerfulness and mild- 
ness of temper made them universal favorites. In 
their own person, therefore, they endured few such 
sufferings as they were forced to witness. A "Boston 
clergyman," carefully observing their every-day life, 
would have pronounced them happy, careless boj^s ; 
so ardently attached to their young masters and their 
fellow servants, that it would be really unkind to set 
them free. They were well fed — their clothes were 
comfortable — all they needed was supplied without 
their thought or care. 



CHAPTER III. 
MASTER NATTIE. 

When Peter was about thirteen years old, Mr. 
Fisher planned a removal to Cincinnati, where his 
brother had recently gone. He disposed of his brick- 
yard, and intended to sell all his servants, except 
Annt Betty, the cook, with her daughter and grand- 
child. These he could not spare, as they were indis- 
pensable to the comfort of the family. 

Levin and Peter were overwhelmed with grief at 
the news of the intended sale. There was degrada- 
tion in the thought of being trafficked for like horses ; 
for, with all their apparent humility, and their submis- 
sive, gentle manners, there was a principle deep in 
their hearts that claimed the birthright of humanity. 

Besides, they had, through all these years, cherished 
the hope that they should yet be sought by their 
parents ; and they knew that if they changed owners, 
the chances of their being discovered would be les- 
sened. 

But their destiny was fixed. Mr. Fisher found 
some difficulty in disposing of them, for their old story 
of being stolen was remembered, and men hesitated to 
buy where there was a shadow of uncertainty in the 
title. Their master, however, so confidently asserted 
that he had conquered them, and it was so many years 

[37] 



38 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

since they had been heard to say anything on the sub- 
ject, that a sale was at last effected. 

The purchaser was Mr. Nat. Gist, of Lexington, and 
he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for each of the 
brothers. 

Mr. Fisher did not, as he had anticipated, go to Cin- 
cinnati, but remained in Lexington for several years, 
and then he removed with his family to Louisville, 

Ky. 

The change of owners was far from being an agree- 
able one to Levin and Peter. Nat. Gist, their new 
master, lived in a small brick house on Dutch street, 
or, as it was sometimes called, Hill street. lie was 
a short, stout, gray-headed man, about fifty-six years 
of age, a Virginian by birth, and had been a revolu- 
tionary soldier. He swore hard, and drank to intoxica- 
tion every day ; therefore, as he was a bachelor, his 
home was seldom visited by any humanizing influ- 
ence. 

He owned a brick-yard of about five acres, and 
had, in all, twenty slaves. These he fed sparingly, 
clothed scantily, and worked hard. In the winter, 
when they could not make brick, he was accustomed 
to hire them out wherever he could get the highest 
price for their services. 

Mr. Gist had now among his people four boys — 
Levin and Peter, with Alfred and Allison, who were 
also brothers. They had been brought from Virginia, 
where their parents still remained.' 



-::- 



* The mother of these two boys, who belonged to one George 
Lewis, in Virginia, has recently, with several of her other children, 
escaped from slavery, and travelled, by the " underground rail- 
road," to Canada. 



MASTER NATTIE. 39 

Peter was not long in becoming a special favorite 
with his new master. Yet the strange old man never 
evinced his preference by any peculiar kindness of 
word or act. That would contradict his theory. He 
believed there was nothing so good for a nigger as fre- 
quent floggings ; and while he kept Peter near him 
as much as possible, and always chose him to wait 
upon him, he never abated towards him a jot of his 
accustomed severity. An incident that occurred soon 
after he purchased the two boys of Mr. Fisher, will 
illustrate his method of governing them. 

He had come home from town, as usual, much in- 
toxicated, and ordered Peter to scatter a couple of 
bundles of oats on the ground, for his horse. The 
boy obeyed, but strewed them over rather more space 
than was necessary. In a few minutes, his master ap- 
peared. 

" Did you feed Ned his oats?" 

" Yes sir." 

" I'll see if you have done it right." And, mutter- 
ing curses as he went, he proceeded to the yard, where 
the horse was eating. 

"What the d— 1 did you throw them all about for? 

" Why, mass'r, you told me to scatter 'em." 

Quick the old man's cane descended on the offend- 
er's head. "I did'nt tell you to scatter them all over 
the yard. Follow me to the house. I'll give you a 

lesson." 

Peter walked slowly behind him to the door. 
"ISTow take off your shirt, you rascal, and cross 

your hands." 

The boy obeyed; and his master, after tying his 
hands together, drew them down over his knees, where 



40 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

lie confined them by means of a stick thrust under his 
knees. He then beat him with a cowhide, first on one 
side, and then on the other, till his drunken rage was 
appeased. "There, you black cuss" cried he, when 
he had finished, " I mean to make a good nigger of 
you, and there's no way to do it, only by showing you 
who's master." 

This method of confining a negro for punishment is 
called "bucking" him, and it is much practised in 
slave-land. The culprit is frequently left in the 
" buck" several hours — sometimes, indeed, all night — 
and, in such cases, the protracted straining of the 
muscles causes intense pain. 

A few benevolent individuals, about this time, estab- 
lished a Sabbath School in Lexington, for the instruc- 
tion of such slaves as might be permitted by their 
masters to learn. 

At this proceeding Master Nattie was indignant. 
He would not have his niggers spoiled by getting 
learning — no, indeed! Niggers were bad enough, 
without being set up by such rascals as these Sunday 
School teachers. They'd better not meddle with his 
property; and if he heard of one of his boys going 
near the school, he'd give him such a flogging that 
he'd never need any more education. 

Bat in the breast of one of these slave boys burned 
a thirst for knowledge so intense, that even this terri- 
ble threat could not deter him from making one effort 
to learn. Peter went to the school. 

The teacher received him kindly, and inquired for 
his " pass" 

" Ain't got none, massa." 

"I am sorry," said the teacher, "for we are not per- 



MASTER NATTIE. 41 

mitted to instruct any servants without the consent of 
their masters." 

Peter knew this very well ; and he also knew that 
to ask his master for a pass would be only to apply 
for a whipping ; but he did so long to learn to read, 
he could not go away. He looked around on the 
pupils. Their masters allowed them to come, and 
surely not one of them could learn so quick as he. He 
determined to make a desperate effort to stay that one 
day, at least. So he told the teacher that his master 
didn't care nothin 1 'bout his comiii 1 — he'd get a pass 
next Sunday ; and he was permitted to remain. 

The next Sabbath, when the school was opened, 
Peter stood among the pupils. The other boys pre- 
sented their passes — his did not appear. He had for- 
gotten to ash his master, but would be sure to remem- 
ber it the next Sunday. 

But on the third Sabbath he was no better off. His 
master had gone from home early in the morning, and 
of course it was impossible for him to get a pass in his 
absence. The teacher once more allowed him to re- 
main, but assured him that no such excuses would be 
taken in future. 

The fourth Sabbath came, and Peter walked boldly 
into the school. "Pass, boy I" as usual, was the first 
salutation. 

" Ain't got none," replied he. " Mass' Nattie say, 
don't need none ; no use, no how." 

The teacher began to suspect the true state of the 
case, and though he would gladly have aided to illu- 
mine that eager intellect, that was " stretching forward 
to the light," yet he was forced to thrust it back into 
the darkness, lest a prejudice should be aroused which 



42 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

would palsy all his efforts. So he positively forbade 
Peter's future entrance to the school without a pass, 
and he was thereafter obliged to seek for amusement 
on Sundays in some other direction. He had, in these 
four Sundays, learned the alphabet, and could spell a 
few words, and hard and bitter was the fate that con- 
signed him thenceforward to ignorance. 

"Oli," thought he, "if I could only learn to read ! 
I could find out the way to Avrite myself. Then I 
might write letters to Philadelphia , and let our mother 
know what's 'come of her chilluns. There's white boys 
in town that goes to school every day, that would a 
heap ruther play in the street. I's seen 'em runnin' 
off to keep clar of the mas'r in the mornin'. Eeckon, 
if I could go to school, nobody wouldn't cotch me run- 
nin' off that way." 



CHAPTER IV. 
THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 

After Levin and Peter had worked for four sum- 
mers in the brickyard, their master hired them, with 
Alfred and Allison, to Mr. George Norton, a tobacco- 
nist, who at that time carried on an extensive business 
in Lexington. 

They had been hired out before to different persons 
during the winter. Peter had, one winter, served as 
waiter, a cousin of his master, Mr. Sandford Keene. 
This was his first introduction to house service, as well 
as his first experience, since he became a slave, of gen- 
uine kindness. Mrs. Keene was a noble-hearted lady, 
who delighted to promote the happiness of all around 
her, and Peter loved to serve her acceptably. 

But to this Mr. Norton they were hired for the 
whole year ; and violent as was Master Nattie in his 
phrensied hours, and carefully as he avoided every 
indulgence towards them which might seem to recog- 
nize their humanity, they dreaded to exchange him 
for this new master, for of him report spake never 
kindly. 

Mr. George Norton — ah ! how grand he looked as 
he stood near the shop door conversing with his over- 
seer ! His broad-brimmed hat seemed conscious of its 

[43] 



44 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

elevated position, and his hair descending in a cue 
behind was stiff and stately. The very smoke from 
his cigar ascended with a consequential puff, and his 
cane thumped on the sidewalk in exact accordance 
with the great man's varying moods. It had a gentle 
tap to answer words of compliment, or salutations from 
the rich or beautiful. But when a breath of contra- 
diction came, or any sable menial hesitated to obey 
his slightest wish, the expressive staff beat furiously 
upon the pavement, in token of the vengeance that 
should fall upon the offender's head. 

A fit foil to his pompous superior was the overseer, 
Mr. Kisich. Small and pale, awkward in his man- 
ners, and "slightly lame," he seemed totally indiffer- 
ent to his personal appearance, and gloried only in 
the force and accuracy with which he could execute 
his employer's j^lans. 

He was a native of the Emerald Isle, as his "rich 
brogue" plainly indicated ; and, like some of his more 
distinguished countrymen in these later days, claimed 
liberty for Irishmen, and equality with the noblest in 
every land. But Avhen 

" He found his fellow guilty of a skin 
Not colored like his own." 

he could see him bought and sold, and tasked, and 
beaten, without a single impulse of pity. 

About thirty men and boys were employed in Mr. 
Norton's establishment. Of these, three were white 
men, who were hired to do that part of the work which 
required more experience and skill than the negroes 
were supposed to possess. These acted as spies and 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 45 

informers ; making the privilege of tyrannizing over 
their dark-skinned fellows, a sort of compensation for 
the degradation which is inseparable, in slave-land, 
from the necessity of labor. 

Peter and Allison succeeded admirably in pleasing 
Mr. Norton. He liked their ready obedience, and their 
sprightly, nimble movements. When he gave an 
order, he could not wait with patience its dilatory 
execution, and they loved to surprise him by return- 
ing from an errand, or by finishing a task earlier than 
he expected. Yet by this they won no praise. It was 
but their duty, and they had reason to rejoice if, by 
performing it, they escaped the cow-hide. 

For several months they thus succeeded in avoiding 
any outbreak of his wrath. They had been accus- 
tomed to no mild exercise of authority, and the angry 
strife they often witnessed, seemed to them, if not 
quite necessary, unavoidable at times. Force was their 
law, and force their motive to obedience; and but for 
their brother-love, and the warm memory of their 
mother, their hearts must have grown callous and 
incapable of affectionate response. 

For Levin and Peter there was ever a bright morn- 
ing in remembrance, and they were young — could they 
live without the hope of returning once more to that 
mother-home? Humble was the cabin which they 
delighted to remember, but the sunshine came freely 
in at the open door, and no harsh word was ever heard 
within the lowly walls. 

How sweet, how soothing, was the influence of these 
cherished retrospects! How often, when their tasks 
were finished, the two brothers strolled away from the 
noisy mirth which their companions were beguiling 



46 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

the twilight hour, and in low tones discussed the pos- 
sibilities of an escape from slavery — a return to the 
dear home where they had known no care nor fear. 

A hundred plans they at different times suggested 
to each other, but the execution of any one of them 
required more knowledge than they possessed, or 
could acquire. And then there were so many that 
failed in such attempts. The jail was always tenanted 
by captured fugitives. No — they could not run away. 

But perhaps, some day, they might buy their free- 
dom. They could work nights and Sundays, and earn 
the money, and then they would be safe. This was 
their favorite aerial abode, and here they enjoyed many 
bright anticipations. But alas ! they soon learned by 
the sad experience of others, that such a plan was all 
uncertain. The history of one man of their acquaint- 
ance in Lexington, taught them a lesson of caution on 
that point, that chilled their ardent hopes, and deep- 
ened their distrust of seeming friends. 

Spencer, a fine-looking intelligent mulatto, belonged 
to a Mr. Williams, who kept a lottery office in Lex- 
ington. His master, having no need of his services, 
hired him out ; usually to the keepers of hotels or livery 
stables, and sometimes to Spencer himself. He was a 
great favorite with the white people, and had excellent 
opportunities of making money; not only by extra 
services about the hotels or stables, but also by doctor- 
ing horses, in which he had much skill. 

He sometimes speculated in lottery tickets, but here 
his success availed him little. He drew at one time a 
house and lot in Lexington, valued at $30,000, and 
although many white people declared that it would be 
a shame to deprive him of the benefit of his good for- 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 47 

tune, yet it was on the whole deemed an unsafe pre- 
cedent to allow a negro to acquire so much property. 
So the prize was finally awarded to a getleman in 
Philadelphia, who stood second in the list of successful 
competitors. 

Soon after this, Spencer conceived the idea of buying 
his freedom, and proposed the subject to his master. 
Mr. Williams received it favorably, and fixed the price 
at one thousand dollars. 

Spencer, habitually industrious, had now a new ani- 
mation in his labors; and so untiring was his diligence, 
that in a few years he had paid his master within 
twenty-five dollars of the whole sum. The goal of 
all his hopes was just in sight, when lo! the perfidious 
tyrant denied ever having promised him his liberty, 
and bade him never mention the subject more. 

Spencer was sorely disappointed, but not discouraged, 
and when not long after a gentleman who had heard the 
history of this deception offered to purchase him, and 
to give him his freedom as soon as he could earn the 
price which he must pay to Williams, the hopeful slave 
eagerly accepted the offer. 

The bargain was soon concluded, and with new zeal, 
the bondman commenced his labors. He took the pre- 
caution this time, to ask for a receipt whenever he 
made a payment. This was readily given, and Spencer 
deemed himself safe. But behold ! when he had paid 
all but seventy dollars, his new master suddenly left 
town ; and before the poor slave was aware of any ap- 
proaching change, an agent to whose care he had been 
consigned, had sold him to another master. He was 
indignant at this outrageous fraud, and produced his 
receipts, which he had carefully preserved. But these 



48 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

availed nothing. They did not show to whom the 
money had been paid. And even if they had been 
properly written they would have profited nothing — 
for does not a slave's money as well as his person and 
his labor, belong to his master? 

Still hope died not in Spencer's breast. Again he 
tried a man who had been lavish of his sympathy, and 
loud in his denunciations of the baseness by which he 
had suffered. Into his hands — for the third time — he 
paid the hard-earned price of his redemption ; and when 
he should have received his free papers, and a pass out 
of the State, he was chained in a gang, and sent to the 
cotton and sugar fields of the south. 

To the ears of Peter and his brother came many tales 
like this, and in their inmost hearts were treasured the 
lessons of caution which they imparted. Surely there 
was none they could trust. It were far better, hj ap- 
parent contentment, and by cheerful maimers, to win 
the confidence of those in whose power they were placed? 
than to become objects of suspicion and dislike, by ill- 
timed efforts to be free. So they toiled on, their genial 
sunny natures, and the warm heart-love ever fresh 
within their breasts, preserving them from despair. 

Half the year at Mr. Norton's had passed away, and 
neither of the boys belonging to old Nattie Gist had 
fallen into any serious difficulty. They had witnessed 
many exhibitions of their employer's cruelty, and one 
which occurred about this time, filled their hearts with 
horror. 

Mr. Norton's body-servant, a large black man, 
chanced one day to offend his haughty master. He 
was immediately put in a buck, and in the presence of 
all the men and boys, Norton inflicted on his naked 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 49 

back three hundred lashes with a cowhide. The blood 
gushed out, and ran in streams upon the brick floor of 
the shop. 

When the stick was removed from under his knees, 
the poor victim was unable to rise. At this his tor- 
mentor was enraged. He seized a board that lay near, 
full of shingle nails, and with it struck him several 
violent blows ; every one of which brought the blood 
in streams, as though he had been pierced with lancets. 

The slaves who witnessed this horrid deed were 
paralyzed with fear, but the white men swore it was 
just right. The cursed niggers — they must be con- 
quered, or they would not be worth a d — n. 

Here young Peter's caution for a moment failed. 
His eyes, usually so mild, flashed fiercely, and he de- 
clared in a low voice to his brother that George Norton 
should never strip him and put him in a buck to whip 
him — he would die first. 

Poor boy ! his rash speech was overheard, and re- 
ported to the tyrant, who from that day w r aited only 
an excuse to punish his presumption. 

The next Saturday evening, as the boys were sweep- 
ing the shop, an old woman came in and asked for 
some tobacco. Peter, being nearest the door, gathered 
up a handful of the sweepings, and gave them to her. 

On the following morning, it was Peter's turn to 
make a fire in the sweat-room ; and when he had per- 
formed this duty, he locked the door of the shop and 
went to his old master's, where he usually spent his 
Sundays. Here he played marbles, and enjoyed such 
other sports as are proper for the Sabbath-rest of slave- 
boys, while their young masters are at the Sunday- 



50 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

school or in the billiard-room — according to their 
tastes. 

Peter had been absent from the shop but a short 
time when Mr. Norton himself took a fancy to go in 
and look at the "tobacco. He tried the door, but it 
was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. 
His anger rose. Ah ! Peter, a heavy cloud is gather- 
ing, and there is no shelter for thy defenceless head ! 

Early Monday morning, Mr. Norton came into the 
shop. His eyes looked darker and brighter than usual, 
and the smoke from his cigar came in quick passion- 
ate puffs. His cane, too, beat an ominous march upon 
the floor. Something was wrong. 

The great man spoke. "Whose business was it to 
make a fire in the sweat-room yesterday ?" 

" Mine, sir," said Peter. 

" Did you attend to it?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" You did! where were you when I came here?" 

"Don't know, sir, — recken I was up home." 

" Where is your home, your rascal ?" 

" Up to Mars Nattie's, sir." 

"I'll let you know, nigger, that this is your home, 
and that I am your master !" and with a furious thump- 
ing of his cane, the mighty man strode out of the shop. 
He was in a rage. It always made him angry for one 
of his hired servants to call his owner, "Master;" — it 
was his law that in his shop no one should receive that 
ennobling title except himself. 

Before sunrise the next morning, just as the work 
of the day was commenced, Mr. Norton appeared at 
the door. He stood a few minutes perfectly still, and 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 51 

then taking out his knife, he commenced trimming a 
switch — whistling meantime a beautiful march. 

The sweet notes woke no answering melody in the 
hearts of those within, for well they knew the spirit of 
their master. Only when about to inflict some cruel 
punishment did George Norton utter sounds like these. 

His march ended, he spoke — 

"Peter!" 

" Sir." 

"Where were you, yesterday?" 

" Here, sir, strippin' tobacco. 

"Well, Sunday, where were you?" 

" Home, to Mars Nattie's, sir." 

" The hot blood mounted to Mr. Norton's face. " 2" 
am your master, rascal, and I'll let you know you are 
to go to no other home than this ! Who swept the 
shop on Saturday?" 

" We boj's, sir, all of us." 

"Who gave tobacco to an old woman?" 

" I gave her a handful of sweepings, sir, — no 'count, 
no how, sir." 

"Well, you'll find Jam your master, and you are 
to obey me. Come here, and lie down across this 
box." ' 

Peter obeyed, wondering at the same time that he 
had not been ordered to strip. It was not Mr. Nor- 
ton's custom to whip his servants over their clothes, 
and the boy had on a new suit of blue linsey. But 
he had heard of the expression he had made a few 
days before, and perhaps thought best to avoid an 
unnecessary contest. 

No sooner was the boy extended across the desig- 
nated box, than Norton struck him a violent blow. 



52 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Peter raised up. "Lie down you nigger !" and he re- 
newed the blows with greater force. Peter raised 
up again. " Lie down I" cried the fury, with a curse. 
Peter obeyed the third tie, and them blows fell hard 
and fast. 

Once more he raised up. "Lie down! I say, you 
cursed nigger — if you move again till I bid you, I will 
beat you till you cannot rise." 

The boy stood upright, and looked his tormentor 
steadily in the face. "I have laid down three times 
for you to beat me, when I have done nothing wrong ; 
I will not lie down again 1" 

Instantly Norton seized him, and attempted to force 
him across the box — but was unable. "Here, Mr. 
Kisich ! Tadlock ! all of you I help me conquer this 
nigger!" 

Quick to his aid came the overseer, and the three 
other white men that worked in the shop, and all fell 
upon him at once, while Peter screamed "Murder!" 
and fought with his utmost strens-th. 

People in the street heard the tumult, and gathered 
about the doors of the shop ; when Norton ordered 
them closed and fastened. Among those thus excluded 
was Sandford Keene, the nephew of old Nattie Gist. 
He listened to the uproar with anxious ears, but could 
not determine from which of the boys the cries pro- 
ceeded. Had he known that it was Peter, his special 
favorite, to whom also his wife was much attached, 
he could hardly have refrained from rushing in to his 
rescue. 

The ruffians tried to bind his hands, but he struggled 
so fiercely that they were in danger of breaking his 
bones. That would have been too costly an amuse- 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 53 

merit. But they succeeded in throwing him upon the 
floor, and there he struggled, and screamed, and bit 
their legs and ankles, till they despaired of holding 
him in any position, unless they could succeed in tying 
him. 

One of them, accordingly, prepared a slip noose, 
and threw it over his head when he rose up— with 
intent to choke him. He perceived their purpose, and 
quickly raising both hands, thrust them through the 
noose and slipped it down below his arms. 

Thus baffled in one scheme, they resorted to another. 
Dragging him along by the rope now fastened around 
his waist, they proceeded to the back part of the shop 
where stood five or six presses, each about eight feet 
high. If they could hang him up on one of these he 
would be entirely at their mercy. But he foiled them 
here. As they raised the rope to fasten it to the top 
of the press, he sprang one side, and crept into the 
narrow space between it and the wall. 

Here he remained for some time. Bleeding and 
panting — his bloodshot eyes glared at his persecutors, 
who, on both sides, were engaged in beating him over 
the head with cowhides and hoop-poles, and thrusting 
sticks and pieces of iron against his bruised flesh. 

At last they dragged him from his partial hiding 
place ; and now he made no resistance — he had not 
strength to struggle. Norton threw him across a keg, 
and with fiendish curses, whipped his bleeding back 
with a cowhide ; swearing he was the first nigger that 
ever tried to fight him, and that he should be humbled 
if it took his life. 

When this correction was finished it was nearly ten 



54 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

o'clock ; and, commanding the other slaves, who stood 
agape with horror, to go to work, Mr. Norton, followed 
by his aids, went to the house for breakfast. They 
had exercised sufficiently to eat with good appetites ; 
and while they were enjoying a plentiful repast, and 
discussing in their own peculiar style, the " obstinacy 
of the nigger," their poor victim, bruised and torn, 
with only a few shreds left of his new suit of linsey, 
crept out of the shop, and with his little remaining 
strength, succeeded in gaining the residence of his 
master, on the hill. 

Old Nattie Gist had, according to his morning cus- 
tom, gone down town. Aunt Mary, the cook, how- 
ever, received him kindly, pitied him, and dressed his 
wounds. She had a human mother's heart, and her 
two boys were slaves. 

Peter guessed rightly, that his old master, cruel as 
he was himself, would not like to see his property thus 
damaged by others. Yet he spoke no gentle word to 
the sufferer. He would not intimate to a " nigger 1 '' 
that a white man could do him wrong. But he sought 
Norton, and cursed him roundly for inflicting such 
abuse upon a boy of his. 

For a week he allowed Peter to stay at home, and 
then he sent him back to the shop. Here he remained 
till the end of the year. Norton was evidently either 
ashamed of his previous violence, or afraid to repeat 
its exercise, for never after that did Peter receive an 
unkind word from him or either of his satellites. 

Just before Christmas, Mr. Norton went to old Mas- 
ter Nattie, and, assuring him that the boys were all 
perfectly satisfied with the past, and anxious to remain 



THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 55 

with him, hired them for another year. But when 
their time expired, they all ran off together to their 
master, and he did not force them to go back. 

This was a merry Christmas-time to these four boys. 
They had been accustomed to severity before, and had 
lived on poor and scanty fare. Yet even their old 
master, heartless as he seemed, was not systematic in 
his cruelty. When he went down town in the morn- 
ing, there was none to watch them till he returned. 
They could talk, and laugh, and sing ; if they but fin- 
ished their tasks, they had little to fear. 

But, at Norton's shop, there was scarcely a minute 
of the day that evil eyes were not upon them. Not a 
laugh, a gesture, or grimace, but was remembered, and 
and quoted as a token of disrespect to the lofty mas- 
ter, who could ill brook a jest reflecting on his dig- 
nity. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE SEPARATION. 

In the fall of this year (1817), the community of 
which old Nattie Gist was the centre and the head, 
became greatly agitated. 

The old man had two nephews, Levi and Andrew 
Gist, of whom he was very fond. They were both 
sons of his brother William, who resided on a farm a 
few miles out of town. 

These young men, after much discussion, and not- 
withstanding some opposition from their friends, de- 
termined to seek their fortunes in Alabama. They 
had heard tempting reports of the fertility of the valley 
of the Tennessee, and of the ease with which a fortune 
could be made by raising cotton; and besides, they 
were Kentuckians, and loved adventure. 

Their uncle liked the spirit of enterprize that im- 
pelled them ; he liked money too, and he foresaw that 
they would have fine opportunities in that new country 
of amassing wealth. 

Levi Gist, the elder of the two brothers, had always 
been a special favorite with his uncle, and to him he 
intrusted six of his negroes. These he was to take 
with him to Alabama, to assist him in putting in his 
first crop. The old man promised to go himself the 

[56] 



THE SEPARATION. 



57 



next year, if they should like the country, and decide 
to settle there. 

The command to prepare to go with Master Levi, 
fell with crushing weight upon the hearts of the doomed 
slaves. Old Frank and his wife Peggy, were the first 
to learn their sentence. They were indignant at the 
word. Long and wearily had they toiled in their 
master's service. Patiently had they endured hunger. 
Stripes and cursings had been their frequent portion, 
and these they had learned to receive without com- 
plaint. Now they were growing aged, and to be torn 
from the old place, and from all the friends in whose 
society the Sundays passed so pleasantly, seemed too 
hard a trial. 

Their two children were to go with them. That 
was some comfort, but a deeper sorrow, for they would 
be forced to work in those great cotton fields, where 
venemous snakes would hiss at them, and cruel over- 
seers watch their toil. 

Yet old Frank and Peggy had not the deepest cause 
for grief. Levin and Alfred were destined to accom- 
pany them, and they must each leave behind his 
brother, dearer to him than life itself. 

The young men intended to take with them every 
thing that would be needed to stock a new plantation. 
To collect and arrange in travelling order all their 
goods, required much time and labor, and every hand, 
at home, and at their uncle's, was enlisted in their 
service. 

At Master Nattie's, particularly, all was now excite- 
ment and confusion. The old man hurried to and fro, 
administering curses and stripes to all who failed to 
execute his plans. The boys who had been hired out, 
3* 



58 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

were brought home to aid in these unusual labors, and 
thus the brothers, that must so soon be separated, were 
allowed to spend the last few days in each others 
society. 

The thought that his brother must go to the South 
was agony to Peter. In all their sorrows, thus far, 
they had been together. They had shared the same 
little pleasures — their hearts had been as one. And 
now, to be sundered so wide— could they live apart? 

" O Levin, Levin ! if they take you 'way off there, 
I sha'n't never see you no more, sure!" 

" yes," sobbed Levin, his heart almost broken, 
while yet he strove to speak cheeringly to his weeping 
brother — " yes, Mars Nattie say he gwine bring ye 
all next year when he come." 

"Mars Nattie! He never gwine 'way off there! 
He'll stay here long as he can get breath enough to 
curse. He's too old to go to a Lew country, any how." 

" Well, he have to die some day — he can't live a 
mons's long time, sure." 

" Yes, and if he dies, we'll all be sold — they allers 
has an auction when folks dies — and then their people's 
scattered all about. O 'pears like 'taint no use livin' 
in this yer world. I sha'n't never see you no more !" 

The preparations for the journey were at last com- 
pleted, and one pleasant afternoon in October, the little 
company of slaves had orders to repair to Master 
William's, in order to be ready to start with their 
young masters the next morning. 

" Mars Nattie," said Levin, as they were all assem- 
bled in the yard to say good-bye, " please, sir, give me 
something 'fore I go, to 'member you by." 

11 Well," said the old man, " go in and bring me the 



THE SEPARATION. 59 

cowhide, and I'll give you something you'll never 
forget. If I should give you a coat or a shirt, you 
would wear it right out, but if I cut your skin to pieces, 
you will remember this parting as long as you live. 
And mind, you rascal, when I come out next fall, I'll 
bring the cowhide, and if you don't behave yourself, I'll 
give you enough then — d'ye hear?" 

Such, interspersed with numerous curses, was the 
kind farewell of old Nattie Gist. The servants all 
shook hands, and strove to speak in cheering tones to 
their departing friends ; but great tears stood in their 
eyes as they watched the little company slowly march- 
ing down the hill. 

Sadly they returned to their work, but their thoughts 
crept on toward the dim future. Which of them 
should go next ? Master Nattie had sold, during the 
past year, more than half his servants ; and none 
could tell what caprice might seize liim before another 
year should pass. They might all be chained in a 
gang, and driven away by some barbarous trader. 
Heavily throbbed their hearts as these gloomy fancies 
floated before them ; and while they tried to repress 
the tears that would scald their aching eye-balls, they 
pursued their task in silence. 

Peter returned no more to his work at Mr. Hudson 
Martin's, where he had spent the former part of the 
year, but was sent by his master to take Levin's place 
as waiter at Mr. John D. Young's. 

Mr. Young was not a rich man — indeed he had 
failed in business, and now inhabited a small brick 
house on the plantation of his father-in-law. He was 
an intelligent gentleman, of pleasant manners, and 
great kindliness of heart. Had his wife resembled him 



60 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

in amiability and gentleness, their home would have 
been happy ; but she was unfortunately destitute of that 
true independence and dignity of character, that can 
meet worldly reverses with composure. She felt 
humiliated by their comparative poverty, and the com- 
forts with which she was surrounded looked hateful in 
her eyes, because the splendors wealth might purchase, 
were beyond her reach. Her servants endured most 
in consequence of this unfortunate peculiarity. From 
morning till night they were scolded, till they came to 
heed the shrill voice of their mistress, no more than 
they would heed the rain-drops an the roof. 

During the few months which Peter spent in the 
service of Mr. Young, he passed many pleasant hours 
at Mr.. Clay's. His childish fear of the great statesman 
had changed to deepest reverence ; and, though young 
masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, no longer played, 
as had been their childish custom, with their colored 
favorite, they treated him ever with perfect kindness. 

But with the servants, every one of whom was privi- 
leged beyond the common lot of slaves, he was always 
at home ; and many a pleasant winter evening did he 
spend at Ashland. 

Among the slaves that gathered there at night, one 
of the merriest was Aaron the coachman. He was the 
father of Mr. Clay's body servant, Charles, who, during 
the last years of his master's life, was ever at his side. 

Aaron was an excellent servant — quick and ener- 
getic, and his mirthfulness and genuine good feeling 
rendered him a favorite with all ; while his stories, 
songs and merry jests, made the warm kitchen ring 
again. 

But he had one fault. He loved a dram, and when 



THE SEPARATION. 61 

tempted by the sight or smell of his favorite liquor, 
he could seldom resist the entreaties of his appetite. 

This weakness was peculiarly annoying to Mrs. Clay, 
as it frequently unfitted him for business at a time 
when she had most need of his services. 

He one day drove her carriage into town, and while 
she was making a visit, he improved the opportunity 
to indulge in a glass of his loved beyerage ; and by the 
time his mistress was ready to go home, he was wholly 
incapable of driving her carriage. She was, therefore, 
obliged to hire a man to take his place, and she then 
resolved that Aaron should be punished. But it could 
not be done without Mr. Clay's consent, as the over- 
seer was forbidden to strike one of the house servants, 
without consulting him. 

So to her husband she recited the story of her mor- 
tification, and, as he had tried various mild means to 
cure the slave of this unlucky propensity, he decided 
that it was best to use more severe measures. 

The next morning he sent for the overseer, and 
directed him to take Aaron into the carriage-house, 
and give him a slight whipping. " Now do it quietly," 
said he, " and be sure not to cut his skin. I don't 
want to hear any disturbance. Do it as gently as 
possible." 

The overseer respectfully assented and went out. 
Instantly one of the maids, who had chanced to over- 
hear this conversation, stole out of the house, and 
sought Aaron. 

" Look yer," said she, " you know what massa say ?" 

" Know what massa say ? No ! How I know 
what he say, when he never spoke to me this 
mornin' ?" 



62 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

"Well, lie say to the overseer — 'Aaron must be 
punish — for he take a dram when Mrs. Clay want him 
to drive for her — you may take him to the carriage- 
house and whip him, but don't cut him up.' ' 

" Don't cut him up ! Massa say so ? Well, well> 
reckon this chile be ready. Overseer mighty good — 
he talk so clever — 'pears like he thinks I 's white some- 
times, but the devil in his eye He done wanted, this 
long time, get a cut at me. I knows what overseers 
means when they gets too good. Yah ! yah ! he thinks 
now his gwine give this chile all he owes him." 

The girl's astonished eyes followed Aaron as he 
leaped over the fence, and ran toward a small grocery 
that stood at a short distance on the road to town- 
Here he had no difficulty in procuring a dram ; and, 
having thus fitted himself for the anticipated contest, 
he walked home, and resumed his work. 

Soon the overseer called from the carriage-house 
door — Aaron!" 

"Sir?" 

" Come here." 

In a moment the slave stood before him. 

"Aaron, Mr. Clay says you must come into the 
carriage-house and be whipped." 

"Did Massa say so?" 

"Yes — he says your habit of drinking annoys your 
mistress so often, that you must be punished for it. 
He says he has tried to persuade you to leave it oft* 
but it does no good. I don't like to whip you, Aaron, 
but it is Mr. Clay's orders." 

" Well, if Massa says so, then it must be so," and he 
walked quietly into the carriage-house, followed by his 



THE SEPARATION. 63 

kind friend, the overseer, who fastened the door on the 
inside. 

"Now, Mr. ," said Aaron, "you may whip me, 

if Massa says so, but you needn't tie me — I wont be 
tied." 

" Very well," replied the overseer, throwing down 
the rope which he had in his hand, "you needn't be 
tied, if you will stand still ; but you must take off your 
coat." 

" Yes sir; but if I take off my coat to be whipped, 
you ought to take yourn off first to whip me." 

The man perceived that he had been drinking, and 
knew he must indulge his whim, if he would obey Mr. 
Clay's orders to keep quiet — so he pulled off his coat, 
and Aaron quickly laid his beside it on the floor. 
Then followed the vest — the slave insisting that Mr. 

should first remove his own. " Now your shirt, 

Aaron," said he. 

"Yes sir, but you must take off yourn first." 

This was going further, for quiet's sake, than the 
overseer had intended; but he hesitated only a mo- 
ment. It would be best, he thought, to humor him. 
He had, in truth, long wished for a chance to humble 
Aaron, and now the time had come. 

But, behold! no sooner had he lifted his arms to 
pull his shirt over his head, than Aaron seized the 
garment, and twisting it around his neck, held him 
fast. Then catching the whip, he applied it vigorously 
to the overseer's naked back, raising the skin at every 
stroke. His victim screamed, and threatened him with 
vengeance, but all in vain; the blows fell hard and 
fast. 

Mr. Clay heard the outcry, and grew very angry. 



61 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

"I told him," said lie, "to make no noise, and to be 
sure not to whip the poor fellow severely. He must 
be cutting him to pieces." 

He hastened to the carriage-house. The door was 
fastened within, but he could hear the whizzing of the 
whip, as it descended on the sufferer's back. " Open 
the door!" he cried. "Didn't I tell you not to whip 
him hard? Open the door, I say ! 

"0, Mr. Clay! it's Aaron whipping me! I haven't 
given him a blow." 

"Aaron," cried the master, "open the door." 

Instantly the slave obeyed. With his right hand, 
in which he still held the whip that he had used to 
such good purpose, he opened the door, while with his 
left he retained his vice-like grasp of the twisted shirt. 
His face was all complacency, yet his eyes twinkled 
with mirth, and a roguish, smile lurked at the corner 
of his mouth. 

Mr. Clay stood for a few moments mute with astonish- 
ment. But when he fully comprehended the strange 
scene, he burst into a hearty laugh, and although the 
overseer, as soon as he was released, proceeded to ex- 
plain to him the manner in which he had been caught, 
and insisted that he should now be allowed to whip 
Aaron, his arguments were lost. The master quietly 
expressed his opinion that there had been whipping 
enough — -it was not necessary to go any further. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 

1^ April, 1818, Mr. Young having no further need 
of Peter's services, Master Nattie sent him to his brother, 
William Gist, to be employed on his plantation. Here 
Allison was his companion once more, and the pleasure 
of being together was, in part, a compensation to each 
for the absence of his brother. 

But this joy was transient. Early in the ensuing 
summer, young Master Andrew came from Alabama 
for a short visit. He brought news of the health and 
prosperity of those who had gone with him the year 
before, and gave glowing descriptions of the beauty of 
the country. The rich bottom lands, with their grand 
old trees, the clustering vines and graceful flowering 
shrubs, and, above all, the abundance of game in the 
forests, afforded exhaustless topics of discourse. 
When he returned, he took Allison with him. 
Peter was left all alone, and his heart was very 
heavy. There was no one now to whom he could 
communicate all his little trials; none that would sym- 
pathize with his griefs. He had nothing but work to 
divert his thoughts during the day ; and at night his 
dreams, sleeping or waking, were all of that dear 

[65] 



66 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

brother, that had for so many years trod by his side 
the rugged path to which they two were doomed. 

Soon after the departure of his nephew, Master 
Nattie's health was observed to fail ; and though for a 
long time he struggled against disease, and would not 
own that he was ill, yet he was at last obliged to yield. 
His constitution was worn out by intemperance and 
the indulgence of evil passions; and now, no med- 
icine could retard the steady approach of the Death 
Angel. 

Twice a week, during the summer, Peter was accus- 
tomed to go to market. Then he never failed to visit 
his old master; and as he saw his sunken eye and 
hollow cheek, and noted his vacant wandering stare, 
his heart sank within him. 

He did not regard his master with affection. "Who 
could love old Nattie Gist ? But the sale, ah ! if he 
should die, there would, of course, be an auction, and 
the traders would be there, and then, adieu to the last 
hope he had cherished, of one day joining his beloved 
brother. 

The unhappy old man continued to fail. Death 
stays not at the behest of kings or generals ; how then 
should the faint prayer of a poor slave-boy impede his 
progress ? 

In loneliness and gloom passed the last days of the 
wretched man. His housekeeper and cook, Aunt 
Mary, was his constant nurse. She understood all his 
wants, and she had learned patiently to bear all his 
caprices. Her will — her very womanhood — had been 
crushed into submission to his authority ; for though a 
slave called her his wife, she had for years been forced 
to disregard her marriage ties, as well as her own 



MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 67 

honor, in order to indulge the base passions of the 
tyrant. 

Now, in the death-hour, the down-trodden woman 
moistened his parched lips, all heedless of the curses 
which they uttered. Her hand smoothed his pillow, 
administered his medicine, and surrounded him with 
all possible comforts. 

Death advanced. On Saturday morning, the thir- 
teenth of September, when, according to his custom, 
Peter went in to see him, the final struggle had com- 
menced. His brother William and the doctor were 
standing by the bed. Silently they witnessed his 
agony as he strove with the King of Terrors. There 
was no light of Christian hope in his glazing eye, no 
love in his obdurate heart. He would resist — he would 
live I "Why should he die ? This world had been 
gloomy. ISTo love-light had shone upon his path — 
no gentle hand had led him through the labyrinths of 
evil to the Author of all good. And as his lips had 
loved cursing, Avhy should he look for blessings now ? 
Could he hope for a better life than he had chosen 
here ? Fearful was the frown upon his face as he was 
forced to yield to the great Conqueror. He strug- 
gled — groaned — gasped — he was gone. 

Silently they closed his eyes, and horror sat upon 
every countenance. 

They buried him, and raised a stone to his memory. 
Ah ! he chose his own remembrancers ! Poor Levin 
and his fellows need no stone to tell them that a mon- 
ster lived. 

After the funeral Mr. Win. Gist conveyed the greater 
part of his brother's property to his place for safe 
keeping. A will was found conveying to his favorite 



68 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

nephew, Levi Gist, the house and lot in Lexington, as 
well as all the servants. Whatever money he pos- 
sessed he left in legacies to his other relatives. 

At the time of his death, Master Nattie owned but 
eleven slaves — the six that went first to Alabama. 
Aunt Mary, with her two sons, and Allison and Peter. 
The others he had sold some time before. 

Aunt Mary was left in town to take care of the 
house, till young master Levi should come to take 
possession of his property. As she went through the 
familiar rooms, and arranged and re-arranged the fur- 
niture, she had time to think. The past rose before 
her — the dark repulsive past. She had been young, 
but it was so long ago — it was hardly worth her while 
to think of all the hopes that cheered her youth. She 
was married — and her husband's love shone for a 
brief time on her pathway; too soon, alas! to be 
shadowed by the dark passions of her absolute master. 
Two babes had nestled on her bosom, and they, too, 
were branded with her humiliation. 

Now, he was dead — he would curse her life no 
longer. Ha ! what a pang came with that half- uttered 
gratulation ! Dead — and she who had served him so 
faithfully — who had meekly borne his wrathful curses, 
and patiently endured the degradation to which he 
had reduced her — she to whom he was indebted for 
all the comfort his home had known for years — who 
had attended him by day and night till the grave 
closed above his head — she was coolly given to his 
nephew, to be transported hundreds of miles away. 
How her great eyes flashed at the thought, as, with 
her hand upraised, in the solitary room where her 
master died, she swore she would not go ! 



MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 69 

Her husband, a native African, named Sam, who 
still spoke but broken English, was soon to be free, 
according to contract with his importer. Sam had the 
spirit of a prince. To live always as a slave he would 
not consent ; and, lest he should kill himself or his 
master, his liberty was promised him at a stipulated 
time. 

Mary was fully determined that she would never 
leave him nor Lexington ; and when in the December 
following his uncle's death, the young heir came from 
the South to remove his goods, and desired Aunt Mary 
to prepare for the journey, she revolted. They might 
kill her, she said, but she would not go — she indeed, 
would hang herself, and that would end it. 

The young man coaxed, and threatened, but in vain. 
She liked Mars Levi — everybody liked him — a heap 
better than old Massa ; but as to leaving " Kaintucky," 
and going away to the South, she could not. 

At last, finding that it was useless to attempt to 
remove her, Master Levi sold her, with her two boys, 
to his father, — and she was left to spend the evening 
of her days in her beloved Lexington. 



CHAPTER VII. 
THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 

Ok a cold Sabbath morning, December 20, 1818, 
Peter started with Master John Gist, a younger brother 
of " Mars Levi," for his new home in Alabama. 

He wore his old master's broad-brimmed hat, and 
had his shot-gun lashed upon his back. Miss 'Maltha, 
the youngest daughter of Master William, came out 
just as they started, and with a kind smile gave him a 
handful of biscuits. Heaven bless her for the kindly 
thought! The memory of that simple gift is still 
warm in the heart of him who was then but a poor 
slave-boy, going forth to meet his uncertain fortunes 
amid scenes strange and new. 

The farewells were all said, and the young men rode 
away — silently at first, for there were last words and 
affectionate charges from his parents, still ringing in 
the ears of Master John ; and Peter's heart was full. 

He left Lexington with few regrets. It had never 
seemed to him like home: though among the many 
families in which he had served, there were some who 
had treated him with great kindness. Yet the memory 
of his mother haunted him, and a sense of injustice and 
wrong, a consciousness that he had been stolen from 
home, and that the power to which he had been forced 

[70] 



THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 71 

to submit was all usurped, prevented his forming a 
strong attachment to the place itself. 

Now he had little hope of ever seeing any of his 
kindred except the dear brother that had gone before ; 
and his heart grew lighter, as hour by hour the dis- 
tance diminished between them. Alfred and Allison, 
too, he soon should meet, and they were very dear to 
him— for had they not suffered together? 

Then came a heavy sinking of the heart at the 
thought, that he must thenceforth be exposed to all the 
reputed hardships of the South. The constant toil in 
the great cotton fields, the oppressive heat, the danger 
of fearful sickness, and the deeper dread of cruel over- 
seers—all these fell upon his hopes like snow upon the 
violets that have peeped out too soon. 

And oh ! if after all these years his parents should 
come in search of their children, and they both be 
gone! No, no ! he would not think of that— and giv- 
ing old master's riding-horse a smart cut with his whip, 
he galloped on to overtake Master John. 

Hour after hour the youths rode side by side; now 
conversing pleasantly about the country through which 
they were passing, or reviewing little incidents con- 
nected with their departure from home ; and again, 
their thoughts grew busy, and forgot to shape them- 
selves in words. Day after day they still rode on ; 
one anticipating a pleasant visit with his brothers, and 
a speedy return to all the endearments of a happy 
home— the other, hopeful, and yet half afraid to meet 

his destiny. 

They spent the nights at houses of entertainment, 
which they found scattered here and there along the 
roadside. At these, they were received more like 



72 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

family visitors than guests at a hotel. Master John 
sat in the parlor by the blazing fire, and told the news 
from Lexington to his kind host, or listened to the 
history of the last year's crop. Peter, meanwhile, in 
the kitchen made himself no less agreeable. He had 
come from town, and could tell wonders to his less 
privileged auditors, who had seldom been out of sight 
of home. 

The travellers arrived at Hopkinsville on Christmas 
morning. Here dwelt Dr. William Teagarden, whose 
wife was a maternal aunt of Master John, and at his 
house they spent the holidays. 

This was a merry time. All the usual Christmas 
festivities were enjoyed, and Mrs. Teagarden, in addition 
to these, gave a large evening party in compliment to 
her nephew. 

Here Peter had a fine opportunity to display his 
skill and grace as a waiter, and so highly pleased was 
Mrs. Teagarden with his expertness in this vocation, 
that she made several efforts during the next three 
years, to purchase him of his young master. 

"Look yer, Peter," said a gossiping old woman, who 
stood among the other servants just outside the parlor- 
door, and who had been watching the dancers with in- 
tense interest, "your Mars John gwine fall in love wid 
dat young lady, I reckon. How you like her for 
missus?" 

"What young lady you mean? I reckon Mars 
John ain't in no hurry to fall in love, no how." 

"Why, Miss Agnes Keats. Dear! he's leadin' her 
to a cheer by her sister, Miss Francess. He's danced 
a'most all night wid her, and 'pears like he thinks 
she's mighty porty." 



THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 73 

" She is that," said Peter, " does her father live 
about yer ?" 

"Yes, he's a livin' now; but he come wons's nigh 
gwine to de bad man where he 'longs. Didn't you 
hear 'bout it in Lex'n'ton ? He's got a heap o' people 
on dem dar two big plantations, and he does 'em 
mighty mean. But it wasn't none o' de field hands 'at 
killed him." 

" Killed him ? You said he was a livin' now." 

" So I did ; but I'se gwine tell you how he kep' 
clar. You see, he allers keeps three or four to de 
home place to wait on de family — well, he was dat 
mean dey couldn't live in no sort o' fashion ; so two 
big men what staid round de house and garden, dey 
'trive a plan to get enough to eat, for one day, least- 
ways. Dey got hold de gun, and when de ole massa 
done got settle nice in his bed, dey ris de gun up on de 
winder bottom, and pint it to his heart. But de ole 
cook 'voman — she hope urn, kase she fotch out de gun, 
an' lef de winder open; she got mighty skeered 'bout 
her missus, and kep' tellin' 'em all de time dey's flxin' 
de gun, 'Now min' you don't hit missus — keep it clar 
o' missus. 

" When dey got all fix, dey pull dat dar trigger — 
Hi ! didn't it pop ? but it didn't kill de ole massa — 
struck his ribs, I reckon. Well, de minute de ole 
cook 'voman year de gun, she lif ' up her hands and 
fotch a big scream. ' O Lor' ! I'll lay you's done kill 
missus, now!' 

" Every person on de place y ear dat yell, and all 
come a runnin' to see who's kill." 

" What 'come of the men?" asked Peter, his blood 
chilled at the thought of the horrid deed. 

A. 



74 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" De men — dey 's hung. Dey had a little court ; 
did n't take long to prove dey's guilty, kase you see 
dey got cotch, so dey hung 'em mons's quick." 

" Did they hang the 'voman, too ?" 

" No, dey sol' her way off to de Coas'. Eeckon she 
won't never hope no more sich work as dat. 'Pears 
like, it's mighty hard to have sich a mean massa as ole 
Keats, but it's a heap wuss to try dis yer killin' busi- 
ness. De Lor' don't 'low dat dar ; no how. 

" Dar ! dat set's up. Mars John gwine lead Miss 
Agnes up for de nex'. How nice dat pa'r does look?" 

On the morning of the third of January, Master 
John and Peter resumed their journey southward. 
They spenWme night at Nashville, and one at Colum- 
bia, Tenn., and on the morning of the sixth, at eleven 
o'clock, they reached Bainbridge. 

Peter's heart beat fast as he approached the spot that 
was thenceforth to be his home. Everything he saw 
looked strange and uncouth. The town, if such indeed 
it might be called, consisted of about thirty small log 
cabins, scattered here and there among the tall old 
forest trees. Groups of white-haired, sallow-skinned 
children were playing about the doors, or peeping 
slyly at the strange gentleman as he passed. Now and 
then, between the trees, were seen the bright waters 
of the Tennessee sparkling in the sunlight ; but even 
they pursued their pleasant way in silence, as if re- 
luctant to disturb the quiet of the place. 

"Well, Peter," said Master John, "this is Bain- 
bridge— how do you like the looks of the place?" 

"Looks like 'taint a town, Mars John; I never 
knowed folks have a town in the woods." 

Oh ! the woods will be gone -in a few years. Don't 



THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. YD 

you see, many of these trees are dead now ? They 
girdle them that way, and the next year they die." 

" Whar's the store ? Mars Levi say he got a store 
yer." 

"Yonder it is — where that gentleman is sitting on 
the porch?" 

" That the store ! Don't look no bigger'n a kitchen ! 
What Mars Levi live?" 

" Here we are at his honse, now." Master John 
sprang to the ground, and gave his horse to Peter, 
who with wondering eyes, was looking toward the 
house. 

He could hardly believe that those two log cabins, 
with an open passage between them, constituted Mas- 
ter Levi's residence in Alabama. " Ha !" thought he, 
" ole Mars Nattie say, they all gwine get rich out yer. 
What he say now, if he see his young gentlemen 
alivin' in a cabin in the woods 'among pore white 
folks." 

He followed Master John into the house. No one 
was there. They went on to the kitchen, and with an 
exclamation of joy, old Aunt Pegg}^ ran forth to meet 
them. "Mars Levi gone out hunt-in'," said she, "but 
I reckon Mars Andrew in de store — he's dar mostly. 
O, I's so glad to see somebody from de ole place !" 

" Dar Peter !" cried she, as the sound of wheels was 
heard, "dar's my ole man with his wagon; he's gwine 
to de mill whar de boys is all to work." 

A moment more, and Peter was in the wagon be- 
side old Frank, hastening to the embrace of his brother 
Levin. He could hardly wait to answer all the old 
man's questions about home, and the dear friends he 
had left behind. 



76 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Very joyful was the meeting between the brothers. 
Few were the words they uttered — their hearts were 
too full for speech. Alfred and Allison, too, v>rere 
there ; the little group of true friends was once more 
complete. 

After two weeks spent about the house, in assisting 
Aunt Peggy to cook, and in forming a general ac- 
quaintance with the premises, Peter was sent to the 
cotton field. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 

Here a new world opened before the young slave. 
The brick-yards in which his boyhood was spent, the 
fields of corn, tobacco, and hemp, around Lexington, 
presented no picture that could equal this. Far away 
stretched the brown plain, covered with the frosted 
cotton shrubs. Here and there stood a girdled forest 
tree, leafless and grim, yet mighty in its very desolate- 
ness. Gloomily its wasted shadow fell across the path- 
way trod by its destroyers, like the mysterious dread 
of ill that ever haunts the footsteps of the guilty. 

The crop was now about half picked out. The busi- 
ness was all new to Peter, and though it did not look 
difficult, yet he worked diligently all day, and at night 
had only twelve pounds and a half. The other boys 
were greatly amused at his awkwardness, and played 
many jokes upon him, telling him he must first break 
off the boll, and then pick out the cotton. 

At night, when Master Andrew weighed the cotton, 
he told them he would give a new pair of shoes to the 
one who would pick fifty pounds the next day. Alli- 
son was nearly barefoot, and he worked hard for the 
prize, but in vain. Peter, however, had learned wis- 
dom from one day's failure, and, to the surprise of all, 

[77] 



78 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

lie had at night, seventy-five pounds. After this, he 
was seldom excelled in the cotton field. His fingers 
were long and nimble, and he conld pluck the fleecy 
treasure from the frost-browed boll almost without 
effort. 

Bainbridge, though mainly settled by poor people, 
who gained a scanty subsistence by hunting and fishing, 
was at that time surrounded by the estates of wealthy 
planters. Some of these were of good Virginia or 
Carolina families, but more were ignorant and vulgar 
men ; overseers, or even negro traders, formerly, who 
had gained wealth in these refined pursuits, and were 
thereby entitled to stand in the ranks of the aristocracy 
of North Alabama. 

The store of the Messrs. Gist was a favorite resort of 
these neighboring planters. It contained not only the 
usual assortment of dry goods, groceries, &c, with 
which country stores are usually supplied, but what 
was more essential to the social enjoyment of the gen- 
tlemen there congregated, excellent liquors of every 
kind. There too, was the Post Office; and to the 
patriots of Bainbridge there was never lack of interest 

in the great subjects of politics, and the cotton 

market. Upon these they conversed day after day, as 
they sat on the porch at the store door, and night after 
night the discussions warmed, as the brandied flush 
crept over cheek and brow of the staunch vindicators 
of their different party chiefs. Sometimes, indeed the 
arguments ran so high that the disputants went home 
with visages slightly disfigured by contact with oppos- 
ing fists ; but these wounds soon healed, and over a 
bottle of good old wine, such trifling episodes were 
quite forgotten. 



FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 79 

For two years, this little family quietly pursued tlie 
regular avocations of the farm. They made excellent 
crops in proportion to the number of hands employed ; 
and the business of the store was at the same time very 
lucrative. The brothers bought and shipped cotton, 
corn, and bacon, and kept for sale, at a good profit, all 
kinds of goods that were required by their various 
customers. 

During the winter the slaves had many opportunities 
of earning pocket money. Flat-boats loaded with cotton, 
while coming down the river, were frequently stove on 
the rocks in the Muscle Shoals, at the foot of which Bain- 
bridge is situated. The cotton, becoming wet, was thus 
rendered unfit for market, unless the bales were opened 
and thoroughly dried. This furnished employment 
for the negroes on Sundays. Carefully they spread 
the damp cotton on boards or rocks in the sunshine, 
turning and shaking it frequently till it was perfectly 
dry, and fit to be repacked in bales for market. For 
this labor, they sometimes received a dollar a day — 
thus supplying themselves with the means of procuring 
many little comforts. 

In the year 1821, Mr. Levi Gist bought a plantation 
of four hundred and eighty acres, about seven miles 
south of his home. He also built a large brick house 
in Bainbridge, the lower story of which he intended 
to occupy as a store. In the fall of this year, he re- 
moved all his servants, except Peter, to the new plant- 
ation. Him he retained to wait on himself, and on 
the beautiful young bride whom he brought home in 
December. 

This lady, whose generous and uniform kindness to 
himself Peter still delights to remember, was Miss 



80 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Thirrmithis Waters, formerly of Nashville. She had 
come out to Alabama the previous spring with her 
sister, Mrs. McKiernan, who, with her husband, had 
settled on a plantation near that recently purchased by 
Mr. Gist. 

Peter had now to perform the duties of cook, house- 
maid, and waiter, there being no other servant in the 
house, except a little boy about twelve years old, that 
assisted him in performing some of the lighter labors. 

These were the brightest days that had ever fallen 
to the lot of the young slave. His time was all occu- 
pied, but he succeeded in performing his various duties 
to the satisfaction of his mistress, and he felt not the 
want of leisure. Her approving smile shed sunshine 
on his lowly path and her gentle kindness filled his 
heart with gratitude. 

Now, but for the one cloud that shadowed his spirit, 
he would have enjoyed comparative content. But the 
thought of his mother far away, who could never hear 
from him, and whom now he might not hojDe to see, 
isolated him, in some sense, from his companions in 
bonds. It is true, that no intelligent slave can feel that 
his thraldom is just, because his mother was, perforce, 
a chattel ; and yet, the knowledge that he was born a 
slave, like those he sees around him, and the total 
ignorance of a different structure of society, go far 
to reconcile the unfortunate bondman to his lot. 

A few weeks after the wedding, Mr. Gist accom- 
panied his bride and her sister, Mrs. McKiernan, on a 
visit to their friends in Nashville. 

The journey — one hundred and twenty miles — was 
performed on horseback ; and as the party rode away 
through the woods on a fine January morning, they 



FIRST FGUE YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 81 

formed a beautiful group. Mr. Gist — a well-formed 
Keutuokian — his fine brown features enlivened by 
splendid black eyes, and glowing with health and 
vigor, rode proudly at his lady's side. She was yqtj 
beautiful. Her large, dark eyes sparkled with anima- 
tion, and her tall, erect figure, and graceful dignity of 
carriage, rendered her, in her husband's eyes, an em- 
bodiment of womanly perfection. 

Near the fair bride rode her sister — a graceful, ma- 
tronly lady, several years her senior, whose slight, 
delicate figure presented a marked contrast to her own 
queenly proportions. 

At the distance of a few paces followed Peter, and 
while he gazed admiringly at the dear forms of his 
young master and mistress, he was far from being for- 
getful of his own fine points. He was now nearly 
twenty-one, and his pleasant, lively face, and obliging 
manners, won him friends wherever he went. Then, 
his new suit was very becoming, and he rode as fine a 
horse as he could wish. Not one of the party was 
better mounted. 

He was proud, too, of his young master, and deter- 
mined, in his own mind, that the Nashville folks should 
be impressed with the dignity and consequence of the 
family into which Miss Thirmuthis had married. 

Swiftly flew the two weeks of their stay in Nash- 
ville. Several parties were given to the young couple 
by the family and friends of the bride, and before the 
plans which their friends had formed for their pleasure 
were half accomplished, the time that they had allotted 
to the visit was spent, and they were obliged to set out 
upon their return. 

At the age of twenty-one, Peter began to think 
4* 



82 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

more seriously than lie had ever thought before, of 
establishing a character for life. He saw the moral 
degradation that prevailed among those of his own 
color, and he could not but discover that many of their 
masters failed to keep themselves pure. The vulgar 
and blasphemous oath, the obscene jest, and the harsh 
tone of angry passion, he often heard proceeding from 
the lips of gentlemen; — yes, even the low jargon of 
drunkenness was not seldom uttered by the lordly 
master of scores of crouching slaves. 

All this the young > man saw, and heard — and 
loathed; and now that he had reached the age of 
manhood, he resolved to shun the insidious advances 
of every vice. He abandoned the use of tobacco, 
which he had commenced when but a boy ; and though 
he had sometimes taken a dram with his companions, 
he determined that he would thenceforth touch no in- 
toxicating drink. Thereafter, profanity dwelt not upon 
his lips, and falsehood was a stranger to his tongue. 
His character for integrity and honesty became firmly 
established, and though but a slave, he won the entire 
confidence of all with whom he was connected* 

With these noble resolves of his opening manhood, 
came ardent desires for freedom. He reviewed his 
past life — there was nothing there — in feeling, thought, 
or act — that proved him unfit for liberty. The curse 
of slavery had embittered his heart, and with every 
power of his soul aroused, he resolved that he would 
struggle to escape it. By flight or purchase — some 

* Of Peter's integrity and honesty, the writer speaks from per- 
sonal knowledge ; having been acquainted with him for several 
years of his slave-life in Alabama. 



FIEST FOUK YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 83 

means must offer — lie would yet win back his human 
birthright. 

With this goal of all his hopes, somewhere in the 
hidden future, he pursued his daily round of humble 
duties — patiently waiting till he should perceive some 
opening in the dense, dark cloud that enveloped his 
fate. 

Id October, 1822, Mr. Gist relinquished his share in 
the store to his brother, who had been his partner; 
and removing to the plantation, devoted his whole 
attention to agricultural pursuits. 

Here they lived in true Southern country style. 
The " great house" on the plantation consisted of two 
cabins, built of hewn logs, and whitewashed within and 
without with lime. A covered passage connected the 
rooms, over each of which was a small, low chamber. 
A log kitchen and smoke-house in the rear, with the 
usual potato-house, saddle-house, and other small, shed- 
like buildings, each appropriated to the shelter of a 
single article or class, completed the establishment. 

At dawn of day, the master was up and away with 
his hounds to the woods, and woe to the unlucky fox 
or rabbit whose trail they chanced to discover. 

The overseer, meantime, marshalled his forces ; and 
as there were so few hands on the plantation, he was, 
by his contract with the master, obliged to take his 
hoe and work with them. 

The domestic arrangement of the household was 
perfect. The young mistress was fond of order and 
regularity ; and, through her kind and constant disci- 
pline, those desirable qualities soon became manifest 
in the habits of her servants. 



84 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Thus, on the plantation of young master Levi, peace 
and happiness established their dominion. One ac- 
quainted with the neighborhood in which he lived, 
would have pronounced his place an oasis in the de- 
sert — a solitary star in a midnight sky. 



CHAPTER IX. 
LEVIN'S MARRIAGE. 

It is a pleasant Sabbath evening in early spring. 
The air is filled with perfume from hosts of new made 
flowers, and vocal with the merry notes of birds. 

Master Levi rises from his seat on the porch, and 
walks slowly to and fro in the yard. He is stouter 
and handsomer than he was two years ago, when he 
came out on the farm to live. Aye, and happier too ; 
for the lovely little Mary, that stretches out her tiny 
hands towards her papa, and sweetly lisps his name, 
has unsealed a new fountain of joy in his bosom. 

Yes, he is happy and prosperous. His crops all 
look well, and his negroes are healthy and obedient. 

" mass'r !" says a voice at his side. He turns. It 
is Levin. He has grown tall and manly since we re- 
marked him last — of course, for he is now about 
twenty -five years old, and a fine stout fellow. 

"Well, Levin, what do you want?" responds the 
master. " What is the matter ?" 

" 0, nuthin's the matter, sir ; only I wanted to ax 
you if you's willin' I should get married, sir." 

"Get married? Why, yes — you're old enough, I 
suppose — over twenty, aren't you? 

"Yes, sir, I's twenty -five." 

[85] 



8Q THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" Well, where's the girl you want to marry ? You 
can have a wife as soon as you wish, if you will get 
one of the right sort." 

" I wants Fanny Hogun, sir ; and ole Mars Jimmy, 
he say I may have her if you's willin', sir." 

" Fanny Hogun ! Old Jimmy Hogun's Fanny ! 
The very worst place in the neighborhood for a fellow 
to be running ! Fanny — let me see — her mother's 
Linsey, old Jimmy's housekeeper — a regular she-devil. 
What put into 3-our stupid head to go there to hunt 
for a wife ? No, you can't have Fanny. You may 
have a wife, and welcome ; but no boy of mine shall 
be spending his nights and Sundays at old Jimmy 
Hogun's — d'ye hear ?" 

" But, mass'r, Fanny's a good girl, and 'pears like 
'twont do no hurt to go and see her, sir. I don't want 
nary nother wife, sir." 

" But I tell you, Levin, I can't let one of my boys 
have a wife at such a place as that- So don't talk 
any more about it. You can hunt up another girl 
that will suit you better." 

Poor Levin walked away. He was sadly disap- 
pointed. He knew his master had good cause for 
disliking to have his people associate with old Jimmy 
Hogun's negroes ; but he and Fanny loved each other 
so dearly that he could not give her up. 

Mr. James Hogun was a bachelor — an eccentric 
man — silent and unsociable. He was seldom seen 
from home, even within the circle of his own family 
connections. 

But though as an individual, he was little known, 
his place was famed in all the country around as the 
scene of most disgraceful proceedings. No white 



levin's marriage. 87 

woman inhabited the premises, but many beautiful 
slave girls embellished his demesne. Here " patrol- 
lers" and other wild and reckless characters were wont 
to resort at night, and, free from all restraint, to give 
the rein to every evil passion. 

All this was well known to Levin— but Fanny, he 
was sure, was not like her companions. She was good 
and true, and she loved him. 

He disliked exceedingly to offend his master who 
had always been so kind to him, and yet he could not 
decide to sacrifice his deepest, truest affection. For 
some time he hesitated, but at last love conquered; 
and without the approbation of his master, he took 
the lively Fanny for his wife. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gist were both displeased. They had 
reasoned with Levin, and sought by every kind method 
to dissuade him from this measure, and his disobedi- 
ence gave them real pain. 

Levin had hoped that, once married, all his troubles 
would be past, but he soon ascertained that they had 
but just commenced. 

He could seldom go to see his wife, for the overseer, 
aware that his master was opposed to his going, placed 
every possible impediment in his way. Once, indeed, 
he went so far, the day after one of these stolen visits, 
as to strip him and tie him up, intending to whip him 
well. The master, however, forbade the execution of 
this design, and the disappointed ruffian could only 
avenge his wounded pride by crushing his intended 
victim with heaps of curses. 

But when Fanny dared to come to see her husband, 
she was under no such friendly protection. In vain 
Levin begged that she might be spared, and threatened 



88 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

to tell his master. The overseer knew that Mr. Gist 
did not favor her visits, and as he seldom had an op- 
portunity to exercise his disciplinary talents, now — 
" Gist was so devilish careful of his niggers" — he could 
ill afford to lose such opportunities for sport. 

Soon after his marriage, Levin's health failed, and 
he became unable to continue his labors in the field. 
He could, however, do light work, and his mistress 
took him into the house. 

His master now renewed his efforts to persuade him 
to refrain from visiting his wife, but all in vain. His 
love for Fanny was warm and true, and no argument 
could move him. 

Mr. Gist's patience at length gave way. His anger 
rose. He would not thus be baffled by a servant — he 
would force him to obey his wishes ! He accordingly 
bound the astonished slave, and whipped him severely. 
Three hundred and seventeen lashes fell upon his 
naked back. 

A little later, and the master's passion had subsided. 
He was astonished at himself. Remorse and bitter 
sorrow filled his heart ; and with his own brave frank- 
ness he confessed — even to the victim of his wrath — 
that he had done a grievous wrong. " I have acted 
hastily," said he, "while in a passion, and I am very 
sorry." 

After this no force was used to prevent the inter- 
course of the true-hearted pair, but they were per- 
mitted peaceably to enjoy their transient visits to each 
other. 



CHAPTER X. 

VINA'S EARLY HISTORY. 

In Edgecombe county, 1ST. C, about seven miles from 
Tarboro', lived a respectable planter, named William 
Foxall. He was handsome in person, and in manners 
most agreeable; a kind master, and a true-hearted 
friend. 

At the time of which we speak — 1817 — he was a 
widower with two children. The eldest, a lovely and 
accomplished young lady, named Mary Ann, the fruit 
of his first marriage, resided with her father ; but the 
little boy, a final parting gift from his last wife, was 
adopted by her grandmother immediately after her 
daughter's death. 

Mr. Foxall was not a wealthy man ; indeed he had 
never been ambitious to accumulate great riches. He 
had chosen rather to live in the enjoyment of the 
competency bequeathed him by his ancestors, and to 
leave it, together with an untarnished name, as an 
inheritance to his children. 

But the quiet he had chosen was destined to be 
interrupted by the entreaties of an old schoolmate, who 
had resided for a few years in Lawrence county, 
Alabama. 

This gentleman, whose name was Allen, wrote fre- 
quently to Mr. Foxall, and always begged him to sell 

DBP] 



90 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

what lie termed his meagre old plantation, and to come 
to the Tennessee Valley. "Here," said he, "you will 
find a country beautiful by nature, and rich as beauti- 
ful. The soil seems eager to yield its increase, and 
wealth waits but the planter's bidding. Come to this 
charming valley, where, with the forces now at your 
command, a few years' crops will make you indepen- 
dent, and insure wealth to your children after you are 
gone." 

The alluring prospect tempted even the unambitious 
Foxall ; and he sold his. old plantation, endeared as it 
was to him by a thousand tender associations. His 
servants, old and young, he resolved to take with him. 

Among these, there was one woman named Sally, 
who, with her three children, properly belonged to his 
daughter; she having been given to the first Mrs. 
Foxall on her marriage. 

Sally was an excellent servant, and devotedly at- 
tached to her young mistress. She had waited on her 
departed mother when she too was a blooming maiden, 
and had arrayed her in her bridal robes. All her cares 
and sorrows she had shared ; and when their beloved 
mistress was passing away, she it was that smoothed 
the dying pillow, and folded the meek hands to their 
long repose. 

Then the deep love of her nature was transferred to 
the sweet infant left wholly to her care ; and though 
when her own children were born, a new fount of 
tenderness was opened in her heart, it was scarce 
deeper than that which had welled forth for the 
motherless babe she had cherished. 

Her own poor children, alas ! were now fatherless — - 
though death had spared the husband of her love. 



vina's early history. 91 

His name was Silas ; and his owner, a Mr. Sisson, 
lived a few miles from Mr. Foxall's plantation. Silas 
was a carpenter, a line energetic fellow, and was highly 
esteemed by his owner. He was also full of affection 
for his wife and babes ; and was unhappy only when 
by some arrangement beyond his control, he was pre- 
vented from enjoying their society at the stated season. 

When the youngest of his three children was but an 
infant, a branch of the Sisson family removed to Ala- 
bama, and as they would be obliged on arriving there 
to build themselves a house, they took Silas with them. 

Sad was his heart when he came to say "Good bye" 
to Sally and her little ones, but he was hopeful. He 
was not sold; and when the new house should be built 
in that strange wild place where they were going, he 
could return. They would not keep him there, away 
from all he loved — ah, no! 

But a year passed, and no permission came for Silas 
to return to the old place. He had been patient, but 
his endurance could not last forever; and one night, 
when all was still about the new house he had built, 
he rose up quietly, and bade a silent farewell to the 
kind friends that seemed so unwilling to let him go. 

He was not long in returning to his old home, and 
there he spent one more happy year. His little chil- 
dren learned to watch for his coming, and Sally's eyes 
regained their wonted brilliancy. 

Ah! when he had ceased to fear, then was his 
danger nearest. The man from whom he had fled 
came again, and carried him away in heavy chains. 

Where he was conveyed, his wife knew not. Only 
once more she saw his face. After she had for months 
deplored his sad fate, he came to see her. Three days 



92 TIIE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

Ills "pass" allowed him to remain with her. How 
swiftly did they pass ? 

He had been working at his trade, he said, but they 
were about to send him to the Potomac river, to be 
employed upon a boat; and when he could come 
again, he did not know. 

Never more did Sally's eye rest upon the form of 
her husband; never more did his pleasant voice delight 
her ear. Year after year she watched for his coming, 
till her heart grew sick with waiting, and she knew 
that she must give him up. 

At last, the news that the Foxall family was about 
to remove to Alabama, reached his ears, and though 
he could not visit his dear ones, he found an opportu- 
nity to send them some little presents, as farewell tokens 
of his love. 

The grandparents of Miss Foxall insisted that if her 
father went to Alabama, she should remain with them. 
That rude new country would be no place for her, des- 
titute as she was of a mother's care ; and though Mr. 
Foxall longed for her cheering presence, he felt that 
they were right ; and with a father's blessing, he left 
his daughter to their guardianship. 

Sally, too, and her children, should have remained, 
but he needed all his forces to make his first crop ; and 
as he promised to send them back when he should be 
able to dispense with their services, his daughter and 
her friends consented to his taking them. 

Sally's oldest child was named Jerry. He was a 
fine healthy boy, nine years old. Lavinia, or Yina, as 
she was usually called, was seven, and Quail, the 
youngest, a bright merry boy, was nearly five. These 
were the light of her eyes ; and though she grieved at 



vina's early history. 93 

the thought of parting with her young mistress, and 
wondered who would now perform for her all the little 
services that had never yet been entrusted to less care- 
ful hands than hers, yet she felt that, so long as she 
could keep all her own children with her, she should 
not repine. 

Dr. Allen, the friend who had urged Mr. Foxall's 
emigration, was settled near Courtland, Lawrence 
county. Here he had a fine plantation, and his friend 
bought one adjoining. Then with the idea that they 
could thus work their hands to better advantage, they 
entered into partnership, working all the land together, 
and sharing equally the profits. 

Year after year passed in his new home; yet the 
bright visions of wealth that had enticed Mr. Foxall 
thitherward, vanished into thin air. 

Not that his friend had exaggerated the fertility of 
the soil, or any other of the peculiar natural advantages 
of the beautiful valley in which he had settled. No ; 
the rich bottom lands near the river teemed with vege- 
tation, and the broad plains for miles back brought 
forth abundant crops. Nature's work was all perfect ; 
and the laborers performed their duty well. 

Cotton was "made" and sold; and corn, in quanti- 
ties that astonished the Carolinians, who had all their 
lives been accustomed to tilling a less prolific soil. 

Yet, notwithstanding all this apparent prosperity, the 
coffers of the planters were not full ; and as years passed 
on, though crops were regularly gathered in and sold, 
great debts accumulated, and ruin stared them in the 

face. 

Ah, William Foxall ! could you hope to grow rich, 



94 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE HANSOMED. 

when }^our fortune was linked with that of a drunkard 
and a gambler ? 

With the cowardice characteristic of the votaries of 
dissipation, Dr. Allen, when he saw that a crash was 
inevitable, privately quitted the country, leaving his 
partner to endure alone the consequences of his own 
criminal self-indulgence, and to arrange the business as 
he could. 

Poor Mr. Foxall was overcome with grief and humi- 
liation. The debts had been contracted by his partner, 
but as his share, of their wasted property was insuf- 
ficient to pay one-third of them, he was obliged to turn 
out all his own. Even the trusting servants, more his 
friends than slaves, that he had brought with him from 
the dear old home, must go to satisfy the gambler's 
creditors. 

Oh ! what a wave of sorrow rushed over the spirits 
of those doomed slaves, when they learned their des- 
tiny ! Even Sally and her children, who should have 
been sent back to their young mistress, to whom of 
right they still belonged, they, too, were given up. 

As many as could be sold at private sale were thus 
disposed of. That was better than to be put up at 
auction, where they might Ml into the hands of traders, 
and thus become so widely scattered that they could 
never more hear from each other. 

Vina was the first of all the number to be sold. She 
had been hired out as a nurse for two or three years, 
and was now in the service of Mrs. Smith, at the hotel 
in Courtland. 

It was Sunday morning, and Aunt Sally was com- 
ing in that day from the plantation, to see her children. 



vina's early history. 95 

Yina had dressed the baby, and was just finishing the 

arranging of her mistress' room, when Dr. P , of 

Cortland, entered. 

"Your name is Yina," said he, "and you belong to 
Mr. Foxall?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, I have bought you, and you must be ready 
to go with me in an hour." 

He left the room, and Yina gazed after him like 
one bewildered. It was so sudden, only one hour, 
and her mother had not yet come. 

She looked up the street. There was no one in 
sight that cared for her. A thought struck her. She 
would go and see her master, and learn from his own 
lips her fate. She would beg him to let her stay till 
her mother shold come ; she could not go away with- 
out bidding her " Good-bye." 

Mr. Foxall lived in the village, in a large brick 
house, near the hotel. Thither the excited girl ran. 
11 Is Mass'r in the house ?" asked she of the first servant 
that she met. 

" I reckon so ; I aint seen him gwine out." 

But the master, well-nigh broken hearted at the ne- 
cessity of parting with his servants, could not be found, 
Yina ran through the house, searching every room 
that was unlocked. He had expected this, and he 
could not bear to meet her, after he had sold her to a 
stranger. 

The poor girl returned to the hotel. She had 
learned from some of the servants that Dr. P. had not 
bought her for himself; but that, being indebted to 
Mr. McKiernan, of Franklin county, and his former 
partner, Mr. Stout, of Nashville, he had, at their re- 



96 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

quest, bought her and a young girl named Eosetta, for 
them. 

With an aching heart, she stood watching for her 
mother. There was no tear in her eye, and her fea- 
tures were fixed and rigid. Ah Sally ! came there no 
spirit- voice to thee, bidding thee hasten to thy child, 
whose heart was breaking ? 

" Keady, girl?" shouted a coarse voice. "Come! 
can't wait. Bring along your traps, if you've got any, 
but you can't take a big bundle, seem' there's two on 
you to ride." 

Vina gazed a moment at the speaker, an ill-looking 
young man on horseback, and then, seeing that Eosetta 
stood by his side, holding another horse by the bridle, 
she silently picked up the little bundle she had pre- 
pared, and went out. One long look she cast up the 
street, with a faint hope that she might yet see her 
mother's form approaching. 

That hope was vain. She saw many happy mothers 
with their children, walking to the house of God ; and 
maidens of her own age tripped by, unconscious alike 
of grief and care. No tearful pitying eye rested upon 
Iter face, no heart sighed at the utter desolation of her 
hopes. 

She mounted the horse mechanically, as one in a 
dream ; and Eosetta sprang up behind her. 

Silently, hour after hour, they followed their rough 
guide. Now, blooming fields, on either side, smiled 
on them as they passed ; and then, their road crept 
through thick gloomy woods, that hid the darkness in 
their shadowy depths through all the bright Spring 
days. 



CHAPTER XI. 

VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 

Late in the evening, the two young maidens reached 
their destination, and were conducted to the kitchen. 
Bashfully they crept into the darkest corner, while cu- 
rious eyes stared at them from every side, and wonder- 
ing whispers passed from lip to lip. 

The cook alone seemed not surprised at the arrival 
of the strangers, but with a wise look that well became 
her elevated station, bade them come closer to the fire ; 
for " 'Pears like," said she, " de evenin's sort o' cold. 
Missus '11 be home to-reckly ; she went to Tuscumby 
to church, to-day, wid her sister, Miss 'Muthis. Dar, 
warm yerself, honey, you looks sort o' chilly like," 
continued the old woman, as she drew Eosetta towards 
the blazing fire, at which she was preparing supper. 

Eosetta had left neither father nor mother behind, 
and though she was sad at leaving her young compan- 
ions, and above all, her master, whom she almost 
adored, yet these slight regrets soon subsided, and she 
readily glided into conversation, with the new associ- 
ates to whom she had been so unceremoniously pre- 
sented. The iron had not entered her soul. 

But Vina crept further back into her shadowed 
corner, where, heedless of the numerous visitors that 
5 C97] 



98 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

love to assemble on Sunday evening in a planter's 
kitchen, she yielded to the influence of her desponding 
thoughts. Yet no tear moistened her eye-lid, no sob 
gave vent to the choking anguish of her heart. 

" Missis come : say, bring in supper ;" said a young 
girl, appearing for a moment at the kitchen door. 

Supper was carried in, and, one by one, the dark 
visitors to the kitchen went out ; some to prepare their 
own scant evening meals, and others to collect again 
in little groups for confidential chat. 

u Hi! dem's nice gals in yon!" said the tallest in one 
of these groups — a kind hearted fellow, that had 
pitied the confusion of the young strangers. 

" Not over an' above nice, I reckon ; dat little un's 
sort o' fa'r, but t'other looks like she don't know 
nuthin'. She aint much 'count, no how." 

"You don't know 'bout dat dar," rejoined the first 
speaker, " she mought 'a' lef ' — her sweetheart— 'way 
yon' — pears like she feels mighty bad." 

"Misstis say, come in de house; she want to see 
what ye all looks like;" cried the same young girl at 
the kitchen door. 

" Dar, go 'long honey," said the old cook, as she 
drew Vina from the shaded corner, and placed her 
beside Eosetta. "Hoi' up yer heads now, children, 
and look peart like when ye goes in to see Missus; go 
'long." 

"De'Lor' help 'em, poor little critters," sighed the 
kind old woman, as she watched them from the 
kitchen door, "dey's got a she wolf to deal wid now. 
'Pears like dey aint used to hard times, no how, but 
nobody cant say dat dar 'bout em, arter dey's done 
staid on dis yer place one year." 



VIXA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN's. 99 

Timidly tlie two girls advanced into the presence of 
their future mistress. She fixed her keen cold eyes on 
them for a moment, and then addressed herself to 
Vina. 

" What can you do, girl?" 

" I's been used to nursin', ma'am, and waitin' in the 
house." 

"Did you never work in the field?" 

"No, ma'am." 

" Ah ! you've been raised quite a lady ! Can you 
round cornV* 

"I don't know what that is, ma'am." 

" Can you chop through cotton ?"f 

"No, ma'am." 

" You're such a lady, I suppose you never saw any 
cotton grow." 

"Yes ma'am, I's seen a plenty of cotton a growin', 
but I never worked it." 

Mr. McKiernan then approached, and unfastening 
her frock behind, examined her back. "Have you 
ever been whipped?" asked he. 

"No, Sir." 

" So I thought, your back is as smooth as mine." 

He then proceeded to make a more minute examin- 
ation of her person, inspecting her limbs, to see whether 
she were well-formed and sound. 

Eosetta then underwent a similar examination, and 
the master and mistress both seeming satisfied, they 
were dismissed. 

" See that you behave yourselves," said the master, 

* Weeding around the hills. 

f Thinning the cotton by removing all superfluous stalks, so as to 
leave only enough for a stand. 



100 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

as they went out,—" if you do well, you'll find that Ave 
shall be good to you." 

Martha, the young girl before mentioned, accom- 
panied them back to the kitchen. "Your coat is un- 
fastened," said Kosetta, as they went out, "stop a 
minute till I button it." 

" O.no," whispered Martha, "I can't have it fastened, 
my back's so sore." 

" AVhat's the matter with your back?" 
" Why, whar missus cuts me up. She's allers a 
beatin' me. O I wish I's dead !" 

The strangers exchanged mournful looks, but not 
another word was spoken. 

After they went out, a consultation was held in 
" Missus' " room, concerning the most profitable dispo- 
sition that could be made of the two girls. " Mr. Stout 
will not be on for his till some time in the summer/' 
said the mistress ; " there will be time enough before 
that to ascertain which will make the most valuable 
servant ; but it isn't best to let them know that either 
of them is to go to Nashville. We will try them, and 
keep the one that we like best." 

They were both unaccustomed to field labor, and 
after due consultation it was decided best to send 
Martha out, and to keep both of the new ones for the 
present in the house. Accordingly, the next morning, 
Martha was sent to the field. She was glad of the ex- 
change, for she was not strong, and her mistress had 
taxed her powers of endurance to the utmost. To Yina 
was assigned the post of housemaid and waiter; and 
Rosetta was installed as nurse of Bernard McKiernan, 
Junior, then but a few months old. 

Mrs. McKiernan was much pleased with her two 



VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 101 

new maids, and with good reason, for they were quick 
and careful, and attentive to all her instructions. Poor 
Martha's bruised back had filled their hearts with 
terror ; and from the conversations of their fellow-ser- 
vants in the kitchen, they gained no impressions of their 
new mistress that tended to dispel their fears. 

For three months the young girls quietly pursued 
their monotonous round of daily duties ; and thus far, 
they had scarcely given occasion to their mistress for a 
reproof. 

Eosetta had become quite happy and contented ; but 
poor Vina's heart pined for her mother. All night 
she lay very still, wrapt in a blanket, on the floor of 
her mistress' room, and wondered if her mother and 
brothers had been sold, and wished she knew where 
they had been carried. When she fell asleep, her heart 
was wandering still through strange, lonely places, in 
search of those whose forms, alas ! she mio'ht never 
more behold. But after all, they might be very near 
her — Oh! if she could only hear who had bought 
them ! 

This perpetual anxiety could not fail to impair her 
health. She lost all appetite for food ; and though she 
uttered no complaint, one could plainly see, by her 
wasted figure, and by the look of melancholy that 
never left her face, that she was wretched. 

One morning in June, as Mrs. McKiernan, accord- 
ing to her custom, was making a tour of discovery 
through the house, to be sure that everything was in 
order, she chanced to spy a silver ladle in the kitchen, 
that must have remained there since dinner-time of 
the preceding day. It was the first instance of care- 
lessness or neglect that had occurred in Yina's depart- 



102 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

ment since she had been in the house ; and with quick 
anger, the mistress seized the cowhide. 

Vina had never in her life been whipped, except 
when, for some childish fault, her mother had correct- 
ed her ; and now, when her mistress called her in an 
angry tone, saying she could make her remember to 
take care of the silver, the thought of Martha's lacerated 
back sent a shudder through her frame. But she did 
not weep, nor beg for mercy. 

With her own fair hands the delicate lady chastised 
her trembling slave. She did it very gently, for she 
was not half as angry as she oftentimes became at 
smaller provocations. Yet the blood oozed through 
the bruised skin that was swelled in ridges across poor 
Yina's back ; and she imagined — ignorant creature that 
she was — that she had been severely punished. Ah ! 
the day was coming, when she would designate such a 
whipping as " only a slight bresh" 

From that morning, she determined, if possible, to 
escape from the immediate jurisdiction of her mistress; 
and soon after, seeing her master alone, she went to 
him, and asked him if she might go to the field. 

""Why?" said he, "what the devil put that into 
your head? You don't know anything about field 
work, do you?" 

" No, Sir, but I reckon I could learn ; and I mought 
as well take my chance in the field as to stay in the 
house. But, please Sir, don't let missus know I axed 
you." 

" Yes, yes ; well, I won't tell her. I'd like to have 
you in the field, any how, for Martha's sickly, and not 
much account. Go along now ; I'll talk to your mis- 
tress about it." 



VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNANS. 103 

"Look here," said lie to his wife, soon after this con- 
versation; "Martha don't do much in the field ; she 's 
sickly, you know, and she can't keep up with the 
others. I reckon we 'd better bring her back into the 
house, and take Vina in her place. She seems to be 
well, and willing to work." 

" Well," replied the lady, in her characteristic asper- 
ity of tone, "I'd rather have Vina in the house ; but 
if you can't manage Martha, send her in. I can make 
her work ; she will never conquer me with her sickly 
complaining." 

The next morning Yina went to the field, where, 
though at first all was strange, she soon learned to 
" round corn," that being then the work in season. 

About midsummer, Mr. Stout came on from Nash- 
ville, to see the girl that had been bought for him, and 
to take her home. 

Both the girls were shown him. He seemed to 
prefer Yina, but Mr. and Mrs. McKiernan both assured 
him that as he wanted a house servant, it would be 
much better for him to take Kosetta ; for she was a 
very bright girl, and was becoming every day more 
useful. They could make Yina do very well in the 
field, but she was exceedingly ignorant, and withal 
quite deaf, so that it would be utterly impossible for 
her to learn the duties of a waiter or a nurse. , 

Mr. Stout, having been for many years a partner of 
Mr. McKiernan in a carriage factory in Nashville, un- 
derstood his habits and principles of action. He had 
also some idea of the prevailing characteristics of his 
wife ; and, suspecting that their advice was not entirely 
disinterested, he improved an opportunity to go alone 
to the field where the hands were all at work. He 



104 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

talked awhile with the head-man, Nelson, about the 
weather and the crops ; and then, noticing Vina at her 
work, he carelessly asked the man what sort of a girl 
she was. 

" Oh ! she is a good hand, Sir, fus rate, Sir." 
" Can she hear well ?" 

" Yes, Sir," replied Nelson, with a puzzled look. 
" Your mistress told me she was right deaf." 
"Well, call her, Sir, see if she can't hear. Yah! 
yah ! Dat little gal deaf." 

" 0, Yina !" said Mr. Stout. She looked up from 
her work. "How do you get along, Yina? Would 
you like to go and live with me ?" 
" Whar you live, sir?" 

" I live in Nashville. Would you like to go there ?" 
" Oh ! I don't know, sir. I's fur enough from my 
mother now. I reckon I don't never want to go no 
furder." 

Mr. Stout returned to the house. He saw the true 
state of the case, but it would be of no use to seem to 
understand it ; so when a few days after, he left for 
home, he took Rosetta with him. She had no ties to 
bind her here, and was well pleased with the idea of 
living in Nashville ; of which city she had heard glow- 
ing descriptions from the old servants. They were 
" raised" there, and still remembered the place with 
true home-love. 

Towards the last of August, when the crop was laid 
by, Yina, who still pined for her mother, received from 
her master a "pass" to Court-land. She had some 
clothes there, which she wished to get ; and even if her 
mother were sold, she hoped at least to learn where she 
had gone. 



VISA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 105 

She started on Thursday morning j and, as she rode 
alone on horseback over the road that a few months 
before had seemed so dark and lonely, the shadow that 
ever since that day had rested on her heart, was lifted. 
She was young ; and Hope, though crushed and silent 
long, revived again ; and whispered in her fainting 
spirit's ear, sweet promises of brighter days to come. 

It was noon when she reached Courtland. How 
her heart beat as she rode up the familiar street ! 

Soon her eager eyes rested on an old acquaintance, 
and 'she inquired in trembling accents for her mother. 

"La! honey," replied the old woman she had ac- 
costed, " whar you been all dis time, and never know- 
ed yer mammy sol' ? Mr. Peoples done bought her ; 
dat Peoples whar live orf yon' east o' town 'bout four 
mile. He got ole Moses and Jerry too ; yer mammy's 
mighty lucky — got sol' 'long o' her ole man, and one 
o' her boys. Mr. Peoples mighty good massa too ; 
leastways so all de folks say whar lives out dar. But 
yer mammy to Mr. Mosely's now. Mr. Peoples done 
hire 'em all out for de balance o' dis year." 

Yina could listen no longer. Her heart was throb- 
bing wildly ; and tears, that despair had long forbid to 
flow, were standing in her eyes. She turned her horse 
in the direction of Mr. Mosely's ; — he must not stop 
to rest till she should arrive at that goal of all her 
hopes — her mother's side. 

Aunt Sally was at work in the field, at a short dis- 
tance from the house, and little dreamed that she 
should that day behold the daughter for a sight of 
whose features she had so earnestly prayed. 

Yina left her horse at the house, and walked to the 
field. She came very near the group of slaves at work 
5* 



106 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

before she was perceived. Suddenly her mother 
raised her head : — " My chile ! my chile I" she cried, 
as with uplifted hands and streaming eyes she ran to 
meet her daughter, and pressed her closely to her breast. 

Mrs. Mosely had bidden Yina to tell her mother 
that she might " have holiday" while she remained ; 
and when the first gush of emotion had subsided, they 
walked together to the house. 

" Vina !" said her mother, "how I did mourn 
when I come to town dat Sunday, and you was gone. 
I reckon I skeered 'em all a screamin' and takin' on. 
I didn't know what to do, so I went riorht to mass'r. 
He felt mighty bad too ; but he say he can't hope it ; 
he's 'bliged, he say, sell every thing — and de Lord 
knowed he wouldn't part wid his servants if dar was 
any way for him to keep 'em. He cried a heap while 
I was dar. O 'pears like, gentlemen mought keep out 
o' debt when dey knows what trouble it '11 all come to 
at las'. He couldn't tell me nuthin' 'bout de place 
whar you done gone ; all he said, he done sol' you 
and Eosetta to Dr. T. ; and he's gwine send one to a 
gentleman in Franklin, and t'other to Nashville. O 
Lord ! how my heart did ache ! and 'pears like it 
never stop achin' 'till I see your blessed face. Is you 
got a good mas'r and missus, chile ?" 

" Not over and 'bove ; but they 'aint troubled me 
much yit. They's mighty tight on the rest. how 
some o' the people thar does git cut up ! 'Pears like 
they will kill 'em sometime." 

" Poor chile ! poor chile ! May de good Lord keep 
de wolves off o' your flesh ! Der aint no way to live 
wid dem kind, only to pray to de Lord to keep de 
lions' mouths shut up." 



vina's fikst YEAR AT MoKIERNAN's. 107 

Aunt Sally had married a man named Moses, since 
she came to Alabama , and having been sold with him 
and her oldest son, she felt that her lot was far better 
than that of many of her companions. She possessed 
a kind and grateful disposition, and her trust was in 
the arm of her Kedeemer. " We's poor critters in dis 
yer world," she would remark, " but dars a crown for 
us yon', if we minds de word of de Lord, and keeps 
patient to de end." 

"Now," said Aunt Sally, as they all sat round the 
door, enjoying the cool air of evening, " if Quail only 
knowed you was yer, Vina, and if mass'r could spare 
him, we'd be altogether once more. Poor Quail! 
mass'r say he gwine keep him ; but I don't know — I 
'spect I shall hear he's sol', too." 

Swiftly passed the hours till Sunday ; when, as her 
" pass" specified, Vina must return. She lingered as 
long as she dared, and when she must go, and Jerry 
had saddled her horse, and brought him to the door, 
she tore herself from her mother's arms, sprang into 
the saddle — and was gone. 

Yina returned safely to her master's house. The 
old light came back to her eye, and the accustomed 
elasticity to her step ; and the old cook remarked that 
little Vina had " gone mighty peart like since she tuck 
dat dar jaunt to de ole place." 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

Dueing the first months of Yina's residence at Mr. 
McKiernan's, she formed no intimacies with her com- 
panions. Her heart was too heavy to sympathize in 
their transient griefs, or to join in the merry sports 
with which they sought to enliven their brief intervals 
of rest. 

Mr. Gist's plantation lay very near, indeed, the dwell- 
ings were not more than a mile apart, and from the 
near relationship of the two families, a greater intimacy 
existed between the servants than is usual between the 
slaves even of near neighbors. 

Peter was at this time a fine, cheerful fellow, in the 
first fresh vigor of manhood; and, being a special 
favorite with his mistress, he was always a welcome 
visitor at the plantation of her brother-in-law. Mr. 
and Mrs. McKiernan liked him, for he was always re- 
spectful and obliging ; and to their servants, his bright, 
good-humored face brought ever a gleam of the heart's 
sunshine. 

Even the lovely little Vina felt the genial influence 
of his presence,, and her shyness and reserve gradually 
melted away in the warmth of his smiles. At the first 

sight of the desolate stranger his heart was moved to 

no8j 



THE MAURI AGE. 109 

pity ; and, as he never failed to speak kindly to her, 
she soon began to look for his coming, as a weary 
watcher waits for the morning. 

Thus, week after week, and month after month, 
grew and strengthened the sympathy between the 
brave-hearted youth, and the timid, shrinking maiden ; 
and when Vina had been a year in her new home, they 
had confessed their mutual love, and only waited for a 
favorable opportunity to be united in marriage. 

True, Vina was but fifteen years old, but she was 
very destitute and helpless, and there was none but 
Peter to care for her. 

Her master and mistress were pleased to observe this 
growing attachment. Mr. McKiernan had always 
fancied Peter, and longed to own him ; and, as he knew 
it would be inconvenient for him to havea wife away 
from home, he determined to encourage tim to marry 
Yina, that then he might perhaps be able to induce his 
brother-in-law to sell him. 

To his master and mistress, Peter dreaded to com- 
municate his wishes. He had seen poor Levin's suffer- 
ings in consequence of having formed a connection 
which they did not approve ; and he was conscious of 
the difficulties that would attend his caring for a wife 
on any neighboring plantation. His mistress always 
wanted him at home. She depended on him ; and he 
knew that she would object to having his attention 
diverted from her business by family cares of his own. 

Yet, while he understood all this, he felt that he 
was, himself, a man. Was he not twenty-five years 
old, and had he not a right to marry ? Surely, when 
he had waited for so many years upon his master's 
family, without ever indulging a wish that could inter- 



110 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

rupt their pleasure, they might be content to spare him 
now and then on a Sunday for the cultivation and en- 
joyment of his own affections. 

Still he knew they would oppose him, and he could 
not bear to vex them ; so he postponed speaking to 
them of his wishes till something should occur that 
would naturally open the way for the communication. 

Thus the matter was suspended, when, early in May, 
Mr. and Mrs. Gist announced their intention of visit- 
ing Lexington. They had for several years been talk- 
ing of going there, and had promised Peter that when 
they went, he might drive the carriage. He had anti- 
cipated much pleasure in the visit; and when, year 
after year, circumstances had rendered its postpone- 
ment necessary, he had keenly felt the disappointment. 

But now, to the surprise of all, he did not wish to 
go. " Not go !" cried his master, " I thought there 
was nothing you would like so well !" 

" Well, so I would," replied Peter, " but it's so long 
now, that I 'm 'feared everybody there done forgot me. 
There would 'nt be nobody glad to see me, no how." 

" Well, well, then old man Frank can go — he'll not 
want to be asked twice." 

Uncle Frank was wild with delight at the intelli- 
gence, that Peter was to stay at home. There were so 
many old friends there that he would be glad to see — 
"yah! yah! Eeckon all de folks in Lexington ain't 
forgot ole Frank." 

Mrs. Gist had a brother living near ; and to him, 
while he should be away, Mr. Gist entrusted the care 
of his servants. The overseer was to be under his 
authority ; and no slave was to be whipped, or in any 
way abused, during the master's absence. He knew 



THE MARRIAGE. Ill 

that some of them might do wrong, and might even 
deserve whipping ; but he chose to be there himself 
when they were punished, in order to be sure that 
justice was administered; and so, whatever might be 
the offence, the execution of the penalty should be 
postponed till his return. 

On a fine May morning, the carriage drove up to the 
door. The trunks were strapped on behind, and a 
dozen little baskets and bundles were stowed away in- 
side. The mistress, with her sister-in-law, Miss Mary 
Gist, was handed in by Master Levi, and the nurse 
followed with her little charge, the precious baby, 
Mary. Uncle Frank mounted the box ; he was dress- 
ed in a new suit, and as he bowed good-bye to all his 
colored friends that stood about the door, his white 
teeth gleamed in the sunshine, and his black face shone 
with delight. 

With a grand flourish of the whip he gave the signal 
to the spirited horses, and away they went ; while 
loving eyes looked a fond adieu from the carriage 
windows, and many a dark hand from the crowded 
porch waved an affectionate response. 

Master Levi's horse was ready ; and, after shaking 
hands all around, and charging the servants again and 
again to take good care of everything in his absence, 
he sprang into the saddle, and galloped on to overtake 
the carriage. 

Many were the warm wishes for a pleasant journey 
to " young Mass'r and Missus" that followed the travel- 
lers from that sable band; and many a fear was 
breathed that " Miss 'Muthis" or the sweet baby would 
" git mighty tired a ridin' off so far." 

Soon they dispersed to their necessary labors — all 



112 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

but Peter. He remained upon the porch alone. His 
eyes were fixed on the spot where the carriage had 
disappeared, and lo! they were dim with unshed tears. 
Ah ! it was a great pleasure he had sacrificed. Now 
he should never see Lexington again. There he had 
suffered much; but, after all, he loved the old place. 
His boy-friends were, doubtless, scattered; yet he 
would like to learn their history — he hoped they were 
all happier than he. 

11 Ha! what a fool I am!" thought he, as some sound 
of busy life within the house roused him from his re- 
gretful reverie; "here I stand, and they're gone. I'll 
be married to Yina 'fore they come back, and then it'll 
be too late to make a fuss about it." 

He walked quietly away to his work, and all day 
long, his thoughts were busier than his hands. When 
his task was done, his plan was laid ; and with a light 
step he trod the path to Aunt Lucy's cabin, which, 
since Vina went into the field, had been her home. 

It was easy to win her consent to immediate mar- 
riage ; for she was but a lonely girl ; and her young 
heart, so long unused to sympathy, bounded at the 
approach of the footsteps of love. 

Her master readily assented to the plan proposed by 
Peter ; and, on the evening of the twenty-fifth of June, 
all preliminary arrangements having been completed, 
they were married. 

Old Cato Hodge, a Baptist preacher belonging to 
one of the neighbors, performed the ceremony. That 
over, a merry company, consisting of all Vina's fellow- 
servants, and a few of Peter's best friends from his 
master's plantation, enjoyed a substantial supper in the 
kitchen. 



THE MARRIAGE. 113 

The bride was very pretty, notwithstanding her gro- 
tesque attire, which consisted of an old white dress and 
a few quaint old-fashioned ornaments, that she had 
gathered from the discarded finery of her mistress. 

Vina was very poor. The clothes she had brought 
with her from Courtland were worn out, or had been 
stolen by the negroes ; and a white linsey frock, which 
her mistress had given her the preceding fall, was 
minus the front breadth. This was the only article of 
clothing she had received since she had been on the 
place ; and, as there was no immediate prospect of her 
getting another, Peter gave her a black surtout coat of 
his own with which she patched it ; and though it was 
now half black and half white, it was quite comfortable. 

She had driven four forked sticks into the ground 
in Aunt Lucy's cabin, and laid poles across from one 
to the other. On these she placed four clapboards, 
four and a half feet long. This was her bed ; and* her 
only covering consisted of a piece of an old blanket, 
which the kind Aunt Lucy had been able to spare to 
her. Other property she had none. 

Peter, however, had good clothes; and when he 
found that Mr. McKiernan would supply them with, 
no comforts, he sold many articles from his own ward- 
robe, that he might provide decent clothing for his wife. 

Not long after her marriage, Yina again obtained 
permission to visit her mother. 

She found her now at Mr. Peoples' place, and though 
there was, perhaps, less rapture in their meeting than 
at her former visit, there was more unmingled joy. 
Long and earnest were the conversations they held 
together, and many times the " Good Lord" was 
thanked for all the kindness he had shown them. 



114 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Aunt Sally had now a kind, considerate master, 
and her husband and her oldest child were with her 
there. Her former master had gone back to North 
Carolina ; but he had sold Quail in Courtland to a Mr. 
Bynum. The poor boy had lost in the exchange of 
masters ; but he was still near his mother, and for that 
she rendered thanks to Him who reigns above. 

It were needless to detail the thousand items of 
advice and instruction which the young wife at this 
time received from her mother. The few days allotted 
to the visit passed all too soon, and the beloved 
daughter was forced to say " Good-bye." This time, 
however, there was less of anguish in the parting — all 
she loved was not left behind. 



• 



V 









I 




The Mistress 1 welcome lmnu 



Bee page 11"> 






CHAPTER XIII. 
THE NEW CABIN. 

There was an anxious gathering of dark faces just 
after sunset. Earnest eyes were peering through, the 
trees in the direction of the great road, and long lingers 
shook threatfully at each little sable urchin, that could 
not stand still, and listen for the carriage wheels. The 
cook "bustled about — now in the kitchen, watching her 
biscuits lest they should bake too brown ; now in the 
house, to be sure that nothing was wanting on the neat 
supper table, and then her steaming figure came puffing 
through the crowd before the door, that she might be 
the first to welcome " Missus." 

There I the faint rumble of wheels is heard approach- 
ing. A joyous shout rises from the excited throng, 
and a score of tiny feet fly in the direction of the sound. 
There is a merry strife between the proprietors of all 
these little feet for the high privilege of opening the 
gate for " Missus," but it lasts not long. The carriage 
comes in sight, and all the little eager hands are laid 
at once upon the gate, which flies wide open at their 
touch. 

Here they come! Old Frank's smile is brighter, 
even in the twilight, than when last it beamed upon 

D15] 



116 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

us in the full morning sunshine, and as he wheels 
proudly up before the door, his old heart warms at the 
kindly smiles that beam upon him. 

How quickly is the carriage door flung open, and 
the steps let down ! and how lightly the beautiful mis- 
tress is set down in the midst of her delighted servants, 
every one of whom pushes forward to offer a warm 
welcome home. The fair hand she presents is rever- 
ently shaken or tenderly kissed, and "How d'y' 
Missus ?" " Oh ! you's pertier 'an ever !" " How glad 
I is you's come home once mo' I" greet her on every 
side, as she passes into the house. 

Nurse tenderly lifts the little Mary from the carriage. 
She is fast asleep, and as she lays her in her late 
deserted cradle, the dark faces steal along, one by one, 
to get a peep at her sweet baby-face. 

" Bless my life ! if dar aint Mass'r ! Hi ! we all's so 
glad see* Missus, we done forget Mass'r gwine come too!" 
The hearty welcomes are repeated, the extended hand 
is duly shaken, and by the time Missus, with the aid 
of a dozen eager hands can be prepared to sit down at 
the table, supper is brought in. 

" Well Peter, so you've stolen a march on us since 
we've been gone — been getting married, hey ?" 

"Yes, Sir, I's been gettin' married." 

" Ha ! ha ! you thought the folks at Lexington had 
all forgotten you. Well, since you have been so smart, 
I must try and buy your wife for you. You'll not be 
worth much if you have to be running off every week 
to see your family. Besides, Mr. McKiernan intends 
to move to Bainbridge about Christmas, and then you'll 
have a long road to travel. 

But Yina's master bad no intention of selling her. 



THE NEW CABIN. 117 

She was one of the best servants he had. He would, 
however, be glad to buy her husband — very glad. 

That was out of the question. Neither Mr. Gist nor 
his wife would consent to sell him, and if they had 
been willing to part with him, Peter himself would 
have remonstrated. He knew too well the difference 
between the two masters to wish for an exchange. 

Thus matters stood till Christmas. Peter went fre- 
quently to see his wife, as it was so near, and neither 
his master nor his mistress endeavored to dissuade him 
from doing so. They had tested their influence with 
Levin, and they had no desire to repeat the strife. 

The brick house that had been built at Bainbridge 
was now occupied by Mr. McKiernan. He had bought 
a large plantation there, — much of it new land, and to 
clear it, and fit it for corn and cotton, required the ut- 
most diligence. 

There was no time to build cabins, though there were 
not half enough for the numerous families of slaves 
that he carried with him. Every family, therefore, 
that wished a house to themselves, were obliged to 
spend their Sundays in building it. 

Peter immediately commenced preparations for build- 
ing a cabin for his wife. Every Saturday he walked 
to Bainbridge — a distance of seven miles ; and early 
on Sunday morning, he was at his work. All the holy 
day he toiled, and often when the moon shone, his 
work ceased not till late at night. Then by the first 
peep of Monday's dawn, he was up and away, to com- 
mence his weekly labors for his master. 

Peter was obliged to cut the timber for his house, 
himself, and then to haul it across the creek. When 
that was all prepared, he hired men to help him 



118 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

raise it ; and though he did. his best, it was April when 
he had the little building finished. 

The roof was made of boards, and the chimney of 
sticks and clay. Puncheons (slabs) formed the floor, 
and the ground itself made an excellent hearth. Peter 
was more extravagant than many architects of kindred 
edifices, in that he had a floor at all. The bare earth 
is generally deemed sufficient, and it becomes at length, 
by constant treading, almost as hard as brick. 

The house completed, it was empty. Peter had 
worked nights and holidays, and had earned all he 
could, but, alas ! that was very little ; and now he was 
forced to sell more of his clothes to buy the most neces- 
sary articles of furniture. Two or three cooking 
utensils, two chairs, and a trunk, he procured at first. 
Then he cut a walnut tree, and "hauled" it to the mill 
for a bedstead, and when that was done, a straw bed 
was prepared and laid upon it. 

Every Sunday morning, at Mr. McKiernan's, the 
weekly allowance was weighed out. This was gener- 
ally practised by the Kentucky planters. Their serv- 
ants all ate together, and usually a plentiful supply 
was cooked for them. But here, a peck of unsifted 
meal, and three and a half pounds of bacon, was the 
weekly allowance. The piece might be more than half 
bone, yet no additional weight was allowed on that 
account. No vegetables were provided for them, if 
they wished any they might raise them for themselves ; 
and then, if they had any desire for decent or comfort- 
able clothes, or any little articles of furniture, they could 
sell the few vegetables which their patches produced, 
in order to procure them. 

Mr. Gist had bought a shoemaker, not long before, 



THE NEW CABIN". 119 



t 



and he had cheerfully imparted instruction in his art 
to his friend Peter. The slight skill he acquired in 
this branch of industry was now of great use to him, 
as he was able to make his own shoes, and those of 
his wife ; thus saving many a dollar that must otherwise 
have been expended. He also earned many comforts 
for his cabin by making shoes at night for his fellow 
slaves. 

After a while, as the wealth of the young couple in- 
creased, they bought a cupboard, and afterwards a 
chest. This latter article was very necessary, that 
Yina might lock up her week's provisions, and any 
little comforts which Peter brought her; as, if they 
were exposed, some of the half-clad hungry slaves 
were sure to steal them. 

A flour barrel, too, the provident young husband 
bought, thinking it would be useful in their humble 
housekeeping ; but before he had a chance to take it 
home, Mr. Gist's overseer took the liberty to appro- 
priate it to his own use. 

" That's my bar'l, sir," said Peter, as he saw him re- 
moving it, " and I want to use it myself." 

"D — n you! hush your mouth, you nigger! I'll 
let you know you're not to forbid me to use a barl 
when I want it." 

" But it's mine," persisted Peter; "I bought it, and 
I's gwine carry it to my wife." 

The overseer was enraged; but he dared take no 
vengeance except the weak one of showering upon the 
offender his most terrible curses. When he had ex- 
hausted his stock of these, he was forced to wait till 
the master returned from town. 

He then complained to Mr. Gist that one of his 



120 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

• 

niggers had been impudent to him, and swore he 
would have revenge. "And if," added he, "Iaon't 
whip him now, I'll give him something that w%ll hurt 
him a heap worse." 

The master hesitated, but finally, judging from the 
fellow's temper, that such a course would be safest for 
his slave, he gave him permission to whip him very 
slightly. Accordingly, Peter was taken to the stable, 
where twenty-live lashes were inflicted on his naked 
back. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
THE Y O IJ N O MOTHER. 

On the twelfth of September, 1826, the wailing of a 
tiny voice was heard in Yina's. cabiD. A new fount 
of love gushed up in her mother-heart, to bless the 
little trembler; and her frame thrilled with a delicious 
joy, as she proudly placed in her husband's arms his 
first-born boy. 

Oh ! how happily to his mother passed the first four 
weeks of the existence of this little one. Quietly Yina 
sat in her cabin ; and, as she gazed upon the innocent 
face of her child, and saw his little eyes learning to seek 
hers in loving trustfulness, her cup was not all bitter. 
She knew her babe was born to slavery — and sorrow ; 
but oh I so dearly did she love it! And, perhaps, 
after all, it might fall into kind hands, and be far hap- 
pier than its parents. 

Now, with her joy, her care was doubled. As soon 
as she was able to sit up, she toiled to the extent of 
her strength to put everything in order in her cabin, 
before her month was up. 

Peter had managed to provide materials for a com. 
fortable wardrobe for the little stranger ; and she now 
took great pleasure in making up the tiny garments. 
They were certainly not very fine, nor traced with ele- 

Q [121] 



122 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

gant embroidery; but when she had them all finished, 
and laid, neatly folded, in the trunk, she could not 
help lifting the lid, now and then, to see how nice they 
looked. 

Then she washed and mended all her own and 
Peter's clothes; for she knew she should have but 
little time after she went to the field again. 

When she did go out, poor little Peter (for the baby 
bore his father's name), was left all alone upon her 
bed. Four times in the day, while yet he was very 
young, she was permitted to go in and minister to his 
little wants. But she had then only a few minutes 
to stay ; and, though in her heart she longed to lull 
him to sleep upon her breast, and though he cried so 
hard when she laid him down, yet she must go. 

How tenderly, when she was employed as nurse in 
Courtland, had she cared for the little ones entrusted 
to her care ! How anxiously had she watched every 
indication of uneasiness, lest they should be sick! 
And when the moan of pain fell on her ear, how well 
she knew the simple remedies for all their little ail- 
ments ! Now that her own babe needed her constant 
care, she could not be spared. The cotton must be picked. 

How her heart ached when she heard him crying, as 
she often did, when she was at work in the field near 
the quarter. And if the overseer chanced to be at a 
distance, so that she thought he would not observe her 
how suddenly she darted between the trees that shel- 
tered the cabins, and entered the house! How she 
pressed her baby to her breast, while her tears fell on 
his little face! And when she dared not stay a minute 
longer, how gently she laid him down again, and im- 
printed one fond kiss upon his cheek. 



THE YOUNG MOTHER. 123 

When she came in at night, she built a bright fire 
on the clay hearth, and cooked her supper. Then she 
brought water from the spring, and having undressed 
her boy, she washed him thoroughly. How he enjoyed 
the nice cool bath ! and how he kicked and laughed in 
token of his gratitude ! But his mother had no time to 
play with him, for it grew late. So when she had ar- 
rayed him in clean clothes, she tied him in a chair, and 
hastened to her work. There he sat and watched her 
till his eyelids drooped, and he sank quietly to sleep, 
while she washed all the garments he had worn that 
day, and hung them up to dry. Then, after making 
her cabin as neat as possible, and preparing her food 
for the next day, she threw off her clothes, and with 
her baby on her bosom, laid her down to rest. 

Many times when she had some extra work to do, 
her own and her husband's washing, for instance, or 
an old coat to mend, the morning of another day 
dawned in the east before her task was done. But the 
overseer's horn blew not a minute the later, because 
she had not slept. With aching eyes, and weary limbs, 
she went forth to the field; and through all the long 
day, her feet lagged not, though sometimes " 'pears 
like," to use her own expression, she could not keep 
awake. " But I wouldn't see my child go dirty and 
raggety," added she, "if I didn't never git a wink o' 
sleep." '. 

How welcome to poor Yina was the approach of the 
Sabbath day! How her eyes brightened, and her 
heart grew light, as its morning beams filled her little 
cabin, and revealed her husband playing with his boy. 

Sometimes they dressed in their best clothes, and, 
taking little Peter in their arms, walked to meeting on 



124 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

that day ; but oftener they were busy through all its 
precious hours, working in the patch, or performing 
some necessary labor about the house. 

A large field was divided into as many little patches 
as there were field hands on the plantation ; and every 
slave could here work nights and Sundays to cultivate 
his crop. Some raised cotton, others corn ; and many 
planted their patches entirely to water-melons. If the 
overseer chanced to be "far'ard" with his work, and 
there was not much grass among the corn and cotton, 
they could sometimes have a half holiday on Saturday 
to work for themselves. But chiefly they depended 
on their Sundays. Early in the morning they were 
out with mules and ploughs, and till late at night they 
toiled to raise their little crops. When the moon 
shone brightly, if they were getting "in the grass," 
they often remained at work all night. 

The corn and cotton that they "made" they were 
obliged to sell to their master — at his price, which was 
seldom more than half the market value. But the 
water-melons they were allowed to carry to town. 
This was the most profitable crop they raised, if they 
could get the fruit into market at the right time ; but, 
as Saturday was the only day on which they could go, 
and as all that had fruit to sell could not have wagons 
at the same time, they frequently lost portions of their 
crops. 

They also raised chickens ; and for these there was 
always a ready market in the neighborhood. Mis. 
McKiernan, herself, frequently bought them of her 
servants, and she never failed to pay them a fair price. 
When little Peter was about a year old, his mother 
had a severe illness. The disease was inflammation of 



THE YOUNG MOTHER. 125 

the brain, and the canse thereof we give in her own 
words. 

11 1 never got a heap o' whippin' no how, but when 
Bill Simms was oversee' he give me one nions's hard 
beatin', bekase I would n't s'mit to him 'bout every- 
thing he wanted. 

" He pestered me a heap, but I told him I would n't 
never do no such a thing; I told him Id got a 
husban' o' my own ; and I was n't gwine have nothin' 
to do with nobody else. He tried to starve me to it- 
many a Sunday, when he weighed out the 'lowance, he 
never give me half my sheer, and I could n't git no 
more for a week ; but I did n't mind that. 

" At last he told me if I did n't 'bey him, he'd whip 
me nio-h 'bout to death. I told him he might kill me, 
but I would n't never do it, no how. So when I's in 
the field one day, he tuck and whipped me— I did n't 
call it whippin'— I called it beatin'. He tied my 
hands with his hand'chief, and pulled my coat off o' 
the waist ; and then he beat me till I could n't hardly 
stand. He struck me over the head mos'ly, and tried 
to knock me down with the butt end o' his bull-whip. 
My head was cut in a heap o' places, whar the scars is 
on it yit. 

" I reckon he wouldn't 'a' give me so much, but I 
tried to fight him at first, and he had to call two o' the 
men to help him tie me. By that time he got so mad 
that he jist went 'cordin' to his own mercy. I knowed 
I's in his power, but I's determined to die in the cause. 
" The other people was all in sight, and he made out 
like he's beatin' me 'bout my work : but he told me 
it's all bekase I would 'nt 'bey him. 

"When he done beatin' he curse me powerful, and 



126 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

say, if I ever tole this yer to mass'r, or to any person 
else so it would get to him, he'd give me a heap more ; 
and if that did n't do, he'd shoot me. 

" I was determined he should n't never conquer me, 
no how ; but he was that mean, I was feared he mought 
kill me sly ; so I never said not-kin' 'bout it, to nobody 
but Peter. He came kome a Sunday, and wken ke's 
sittin' by me, ke sort o' put kis arm 'round me. 'Ok !' 
says I, ' don't put yer arm tkar, you hurt my back !' 

" ' What's the matter o' yer back?' says he. 

" ' Oh, it's mighty sore whar ole Bill Simms done 
beat me,' says I, ' but don't you tell nobody, for if he 
finds out I done tol' the tale, he'll kill me, sure.' 

" Peter felt mighty bad when I told him what I got 
the beatin' for — 'peared like, he could 'a' gone right 
out and killed ole Bill Simms on the spot. He never 
liked him, no how — they had a fallin' out, afore, when 
he was overseein' for Mars Levi Gist. 

" But 'twas n't no use gittin' mad 'bout it, nor tellin' 
mass'r nuther ; bekase he allers say if any person come 
to him with complaints 'bout the oversee's, he'd give 
'em worse, hisself. 

<( The next Sunday, Simms come up afore my house, 
and spoke to Peter, whar was a standin' in the door. 

11 Peter answered him mighty low, and that made 
him mad, bekase he 'lowed I done told him how I been 
'bused. ' Seems to me,' says he, ' you're gettin' mighty 
grand. You're too great a gentleman to speak to a 
white person with respect. Never mind, I'll do you a 
kindness some o' these days. I owe you something 
this long time.' 

" ' Well,' says Peter, ' that debt never will be paid 
till the judgment day.' 



THE YOUNG MOTHER. 127 

" I tremble every minute, for I 'lowed I should have 
to take more next day ; but I reckon he thought how 't 
was n't no use, for he never said nuthin' to me 'bout it 
no more. 

" I had a heap o' misery in my head all the time for 
two weeks arter I tuck that beatin', and then I got 
right sick, and they said I's out o' my senses for a 
week. They sent for the doctor, but I did n't know 
nuthin' 'bout it, and he said I'd tuck some mighty hard 
blows on the head. He left medicine, and missus, she 
stay by me all the time. She sent for Peter to come — 
she reckoned I'd know him — but 'twas n't no use. 
They all 'lowed I's gwine to die ; and then Peter, he 
told 'em all 'bout what done make me sick. 

" Mass'r was mighty mad. ' Why the devil didn't 
she tell me this afore ?' says he. 

" ' Bekase,' says Peter, ' she knowed your rule, that 
you don't keer how hard an oversee' beats your serv- 
ants, if they comes to you, they shall git worse.' 

" Mass'r felt mighty bad then, but he 'lowed I might 
knowed he'd protect me in that. 

" I reckon I should n't never got well, if they all 
had n't tuck such good care o' me. When I got so I 
could talk, mass'r ax me why I never told him what a 
beatin' old Simms done give me. 

" ' What I come to you for,' says I, l you allers told 
us never to do that, without we wanted more. If I'd 
'lowed 'twould done any good I'd 'a' come to you, sir, 
mons's quick.' 

" Soon as I's able to walk from the bed to the fire, 
mass'r come in to see me, and brought old Simms with 
him. Then he axed me 'bout that beatin' right afore 
him, and I told it to his face. 'Twas so true, he 



128 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

couldn't deny it. Mass'r cursed him mightily, and 
told him he should pay my doctor's bill, and pay for 
every day whar I was sick. I never knowed 'bout the 
payin' whether he done it or not, but mass'r drove him 
off the place, and he never come on it agin. 

" I see him twice after that. The first time we's all 
gwine to meetin'. I see him comin', and says I, ' Thar 
comes the devil ; I ain't gwine to look at him.' So 
I pulled my bonnet down over my face ; and when he 
come 'long, and say how d'y' to the rest ; I never look 
up. 

" The next time I met old Simms, look like he's the 
picter o' Death. He been mighty sick, and jist got 
able to ride out. 

" That thar was the last o' his ridin'. He took a 
'lapse arter that, and then he died in a mighty short 
time. 

" When I heard he's dead, I's so glad ! My heart 
couldn't help from shoutin', though it oughten't." 



CHAPTER XV. 
DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 

The sunshine of prosperity beamed steadily upon 
the peaceful home of Mr. and Mrs. Gist. Gradually 
their worldly substance increased; and the dearer 
treasures of their hearts were multiplied. 

The Spring of 1830, when she had waked the deli- 
cate flowers of the forest, came noiselessly on, and with 
careful hand, unfolded the rosebuds that climbed on 
the porch. 

Near the half-open door sat the young husband and 
his still beautiful wife. Not a line of care or sorrow 
had stolen across their foreheads ; not a shade of cold- 
ness or distrust had fallen on their hearts. Their 
children sported before them — two lovely girls and a 
brave boy, the youngest, and the pet of all. 

Ah ! came no whispering voice to bid them prize 
these golden moments ? Entered no dread of change 
into all the plans they formed together ? None ! The 
sweet Spring smiled on them from without— the 
parching Summer drought she never heralds. 

They were planning a visit to Kentucky. It was 
five years since they had enjoyed the hospitalities of 
that endeared home of other days ; and the beloved 
parent, from whom they had been so long severed, 

6* [129] 



130 THE KIDNAPPED AXD THE RANSOMED. 

were growing old. Yes; they would go to Lex- 
ington. 

On a bright May morning, a few weeks after, the 
family carriage rolled away from the door, with its 
precious burden of gentle trusting hearts. Tears 
gathered in dark eyes that gazed fondly after the trav- 
vellers ; and fond adieus to loving favorites were tossed 
back by tiny hands. 

" 'Pears like," sobbed Aunt Ceely, " somethin's 
gwine happen. Ts had mighty bad dreams dese las' 
nights." 

" Oh ! you's allers a dreamin' ; reckon yer dreams 
aint much 'count," replied a cheerful girl at her side. 

" I reckon nuthin' aint gwine hurt dern, no how ; 
dey's been to Kaintucky 'fore dis," said another, who, 
though sad herself, would fain dispel Aunt Ceely's 
gloom. 

The old woman turned towards the kitchen, and her 
croaking was soon forgotten. But when at night she 
smoked her pipe before her kitchen door, the shadow 
of impending ill darkened her heart. 

Summer came with its heat, and wearying toil, and 
September passed away, and still the house was closed. 
Now and then, for a few hours the windows were 
thrown open, that the fresh air of morning might wan- 
der through the deserted rooms. But it would not 
tarry long ; for it missed the merry children, to whose 
radiant eyes and blooming cheeks it had been wont to 
lend a deeper glow. So, after kissing lovingly each 
little couch, and chair, and scattered toy, the soft air 
flew away, to dally with the summer leaves that 
danced at its approach. 

Early in October, new life seemed to have awakened 



DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 131 

on the plantation. The laborers stepped more briskly 
out at morning, and the house servants went bustling 
through the lonely rooms, "clarin' up, and putting 
things to rights for Missus." 

There were no gloomy faces now — no dark forebod- 
ing of approaching woe ; Aunt Ceely herself forgot 
her dreams, she was so busy planning a nice supper, 
such as she knew suited '•' Mars Levi when he come 
home hongry." 

The last day of September was the time appointed 
for the family to leave Lexington, and though the 
summer had passed most pleasantly in the society of 
valued friends, yet not one of the little group wished 
to remain longer. 

On the day previous to their intended departure, a 
few friends sat down with them to a farewell dinner, 
at the house of an uncle of Mr. Gist. 

The party were in fine spirits, albeit a shadow of 
regret that they were so soon to part, did now and then 
steal over them. Plans of future re-unions, however, 
were proposed, and promises of more frequent visits 
interchanged. 

"What is it?'' whispers with bloodless lips, the 
beautiful young wife, as her husband sways towards 
her, and she sees that his face is ashy pale. Quickly 
his friends spring to his assistance. They bear him 
from the table, and support him in their arms upon 
the sofa. 

Ah ! they saw not the Death Angel, as with white 
wings he approached, and gently sealed those loving 
eyes and stilled that throbbing heart. Xo ! they saw 
him not. They did not know how vain were all 
their agonized endeavors to restore the warm breath to 



132 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

that manly form. " He has only fainted — give him 



air!" 



Yain hope! The warm hands grow rigid — cold. 
The features become fixed. Can it be he is dead ? 

God pity thee ! fond wife — and grant thee tears — 
that thy young heart break not. 

In the parlor, at his childhood's home, was laid all 
that was mortal of Levi Gist. His father and mother, 
with great tears on their aged cheeks, gazed tenderly 
upon the face of their first-born son ; and his little 
children stole up on tiptoe to look at dear papa ; and 
wondered that he lay so still, when only yesterday, he 
told them they should start for home to-day. Dear 
little ones ! too soon shall ye learn the full meaning 
of that cold word — fatherless ! 

The funeral was over. Fond eyes had gazed for the 
last time on those dear features, and to the earth had 
been consigned the sacred dust. Words of condolence 
had been duly uttered — Oh ! how they rent her heart ! 
— and curious eyes had scrutinized the widow's face 
and manner, to ascertain how keenly she felt the stroke. 
All these were satisfied. They saw her glazed eye, 
and pallid cheek ; and even their morbid jealousy for 
grief could exact no more. 

The desolate woman returned, with her children to 
her thenceforth darkened home. 

No smiles greeted her coming now ; but great hot 
tears glistened on the dark cheeks of the faithful band 
that came forth to meet her. 

Well might they weep that their only protector had 
fallen! Where, in all the country round, could be 
found another such master ? His servants had been, 
in some sense, his children; subject, it is true to his 



DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 133 

passions and caprices — and who is free from these ? 
Still he had ever protected them from the violence of 
overseers and other ruffians, and their supply of whole- 
some food and comfortable clothes had not been scant. 

Equally kind, and even more indulgent, had been 
their mistress, and she was spared to them. But now 
the government would, partially, at least, fall into 
other hands ; there was no will, and the estate must 
be settled according to law. 

Deeply, notwithstanding her own grief, did the kind 
mistress sympathize with her people in their peculiar 
sorrow ; and earnestly did she resolve to do her ut- 
most to alleviate the hardships of their lot. 

Mr. John Gist, a brother of the deceased, proceeded 
to administer upon the estate, while Mrs. Gist remained 
on the place, and preserved, as far as possible, the ac- 
customed order of affairs. 

She was now a stately woman, of somewhat haughty 
presence, and with an eye whose lightning few would 
dare to brave. Usually, her voice was gentle, and her 
manners mild ; but when the helpless were outraged, 
she summoned all her powers to awe and to command 
— for their relief. One instance will suffice to show 
her spirit. 

It was Sunday evening, and Peter and Allison, who 
had been to visit some of their friends on a neighbor- 
ing plantation, were returning home, when, to make 
their road shorter, they crossed a field belonging to 
Col. John D . 

JSTow, the gallant Colonel had made a law that no 
negro belonging to his neighbor, should cross his field 
on Sunday ; and his overseer, named S , by chance 



134 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

spying these trespassers, ran after them cowhide in 
hand. 

They heard him on their track, and made all speed 
for home. Bounding over the door-yard fence, they 
imagined themselves safe ; but in an instant, their 
pursuer leaped over after them, and even followed 
them to the kitchen, where they hastened to take 
refuge. 

Here the slaves determined to do battle, and one of 
them had seized the rolling-pin, and the other a large 
knife, when their mistress, hearing the tumult, came 
to the door. 

The overseer quailed beneath her haughty eye. 
" What is your business here, sir," said she, in a voice 
steady and brave. 

He explained his errand ; with much trepidation 
however, for her great eyes were fixed upon him, and 
her majestic form seemed to grow taller every instant. 

"Well, sir," said she, when he ceased speaking, 
"leave these premises immediately, and let this be the 
last time your foot approaches my house on such an 
errand. My boys are not subject to your authority ; 
if they do wrong, it is not your business to punish 
them." 

The overseer departed in silence, seeming much 
smaller in his own eyes than he had appeared an hour 
before. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
LEVIN'S DEATH. . 

Just a year after the death of his master, Levin's 
health, which had been poor for several years, began 
rapidly to decline ; and it was soon plain to all who 
saw him that his work was done. 

His sufferings soon became intense, but he endured 
them with great patience. Levin was a Christian. 
His intellect, it is true, had possessed few means of de- 
velopment, but he had heard of the Lamb that was 
slain. Upon that bleeding sacrifice his hopes had long 
been fixed ; and though in much ignorance and weak- 
ness, yet earnestly had he sought to follow his Re- 
deemer. Now as the death-hour approached, he heard 
a voice, saying, " My peace I give unto you, not as 
the world giveth, give I unto you ;" and, calmly re- 
signing himself into His arms who is a Saviour of the 
weakest and the lowliest, he waited quietly the coming 
of the last Messenger. 

Poor Fanny was permitted to spend the last days by 
his side. This was a great comfort to both, for they 
had suffered much for each other, and it was very hard 
to part so soon. But Levin talked so sweetly of the 
green fields and still waters of that better land, that 

D36] 



136 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

'she could not wish to prolong his painful sojourn 
here. 

It was the twenty-eighth of December. Peter had 
gone to Bambridge, to make his usual Christmas visit 
to his wife and little ones, and by the bed-side of her 
dying husband sat the devoted Fanny. Yet, though 
her eye watched every sign of change, she knew not 
that he was departing. 

Sadly she gazed upon his placid face. Ah I did he 
not look happy ? Why should she weep ? — and yet 
the tears ivould flow. 

" Call Peter, Fanny," said he, suddenly waking from 
a gentle sleep. 

" Peter's gone to Bambridge." 

A shade of disappointment passed over his face — 
for a few moments he remained silent. Then sud- 
denly, with all his strength he cried, "Peter! Peter! 
0, Peter !" 

But the loved brother answered not. Ah! little 
thought he, as he sat fondling his children, and hold- 
ing pleasant converse with their mother, that poor 
Levin's heart, even at that hour, was breaking. 

There was but a slight struggle, — a faint gasp, — and 
the freed spirit of the lowly slave was carried by the 
angels into Abraham's bosom. 

They placed the lifeless form in a rude coffin, and 
bore it to its lowly grave. No stone marks his resting 
place ; no fragrant flowers adorn the sod that covers 
his silent house. Yet he sleeps sweetly there. The 
loud horn of the overseer reaches not his ear at dawn ; 
the harsh tone of command and the bitter blasphemous 
curse break not his peaceful slumbers. 

The death of this dear brother cast a heavy gloom 



levin's death. 137 

upon Peter's spirits. He felt that lie was now alone. 
The memories of their early childhood, of their 
mother's love, and of the sad, sad day when they were 
stolen from their home, there was now none to share. 
And the fond hope, which through all their years of 
bondage had lived far down in some hidden recess of 
his heart — even that one hope went out — and all was 
dark. 



CHAPTER XVII. 
THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. 

Patiently, month after month, Aunt Sally pur- 
sued her labors on the plantation of Mr. Peoples. She 
had a kind master, and her boys were near her, as was 
also Uncle Moses, the husband of her latter years. 
Of poor Silas, to whom her heart's young affections 
had been given, she never heard. He might be dead, 
and — oh ! what torture in the thought ! — he might be 
enduring sufferings compared with which, even death 
itself were naught. She could only pray for his weal ; 
and trust, as she ever found it sweet to do, to that com- 
passionate father, who loves the prayers of the humble, 
while " the proud he knoweth afar off." 

But it was concerning her daughter that Aunt 
Sally's spirit was most deeply troubled. She was so 
young to be taken away — and alone among strangers 
too — how often would she need her mother's sympathy 
and counsel ! 

11 Well," said she to Uncle Moses, at the close of one 
of their frequent conversations on the subject. "I's 
mighty glad de pore chile done got married. 'Pears 
like she wont be so lonesome now. I'd like to see her 
ole man. But her missus — she's a screamer. Laws ! 
Vine say de little gal whar waits in de house gits her 
back cut up powerful, and she's a sickly little thing. 
Hi I wont dem kind o' ladies cotch it mightily when 

[138] 



THE JAUST TO FLORIDA. 139 

de bad man gits 'em ? Beckon lie wont think dey's 
so mons's nice, kase dey's white. De Lord years all 
de screams o' his chilluns, and he aint gwine put harps 
o' gold in dem dare hands, whar allers a playin wid de 
cowhide yer." 

There were at this time two sets of slaves on Mr. 
Peoples' place; his own, and those belonging to the 
estate of a deceased brother, with whom he had been 
in partnership. Many of these were united by family 
ties, and all were strongly attached to each other, as 
they had lived together for many years. 

Suddenly, late in the autumn of 1827, the gloomy 
tidings came among them that they were to be sepa- 
rated. Their master, having heard tempting accounts 
of the beauty and fertility of Florida's fair plains, had 
determined to remove there with his working hands : 
while those belonging to his brother's estate, as well as 
the children and any that were unfit for labor, should 
remain on the home place, in the guardianship of an 
overseer. 

Aunt Sally was overwhelmed with sorrow. She 
was more fortunate than many of her companions, for 
her husband and her oldest son were to go with her ; 
but poor Quail must stay behind, and Vina — she had 
not seen her for two years. She longed to make her a 
farewell visit, but such was now the haste to secure 
the crop, and to complete the needful preparations for 
the journey, that she could not go even to "tell" her 
darling child " good-bye." 

The master strove to comfort them by the promise 
that they should some day return ; or, if he liked the 
country so well as to wish to remain in Florida, then 
their friends should come to them. But the dim hope 



140 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

in the distant future could not dispel the present gloom : 
and with bitter lamentations fond mothers pressed their 
weeping children to their aching breasts, and loving 
husbands turned back for one more look on those clear 
faces which they never more might see. 

They have gone ! Their friends stand mournfully 
watching the sad procession till it passes out of sight, 
and their stricken hearts breathe earnest prayers for 
the safe keeping of their dearest treasures. 

Yina did not hear of Mr. Peoples' intended removal 
till his family had already arrived in Florida ; and her 
grief was then extreme. To lose her mother thus, 
without receiving so much as a parting message, was 
harder far than all her previous trials. Not even the 
laughing prattle of her little Peter could dispel this 
heavy sorrow; not even her husband's love could 
soothe her aching heart. 

But a kind Providence was better to them than their 
fears. Mr. Peoples did not like Florida ; and when he 
had " made one crop," he returned with all his slaves 
in glad procession, to his former home. 

Ah ! earth is not all gloomy, for there be sometimes 
glad reunions, when the partings have been dismal — 
hopeless. There be transient gleams of joy, though 
misery hath hung her heavy clouds over all the sky. 
There is an Infinite Father who looketh down in love 
on the weakest of his children ; and though he surfer 
them to drink a bitter cup, he often mingles therewith 
rare drops of sweetness. 

The summer following her return from Florida, Aunt 
Sally paid a visit to her daughter. 

What changes have been wrought during the four 
years that had passed since she had seen her child- 



THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. lil 

Yina had grown quite tall, and her face, instead of the 
timidity and sadness that then marked its expression, 
now wore a careful mother-look. Poor child ! she was 
not strong, and the fatiguing labor of the hot summer 
days, together with the care which her two children 
claimed at night, taxed her exertions to the utmost. 

Aunt Sally had not been long on the plantation, be- 
fore she learned the policy pursued by Mr. McKiernan 
towards his slaves. Their lot was truly hard. Not an 
article of furniture or clothing did they receive from 
their master, except, that once a year he gave a coarse 
plantation suit to such as were old enough to work. 
Even this, however, was sometimes withheld, and then 
those who had no means of procuring garments for 
themselves, went to their daily tasks in such a ragged 
filthy state, that the more respectable of the overseers 
could not endure their presence. Several of these, at 
different times, left the plantation, for no other reason 
than that they could not stay in the field with such a 
miserable gang of negroes. 

Little cared the master for their departure. Others 
were always ready to be hired, who heeded not such 
trifles, so that they could have full power over the 
half-naked wretches that instinctively recoiled at their 
approach. 

But Vina and her children, thanks to Peter's indus- 
try and self-denial, had always decent clothing, and 
their cabin boasted many convenient articles of furni- 
ture, such as slaves seldom possess. They had also 
better food than most of their companions, for to the 
scant allowance of bacon and corn meal which was 
doled out to Yina on Sunday mornings, Peter often 



142 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

found means to add a little coffee and sugar, or a few 
pounds of flour. 

All this Aunt Sally learned during her short stay, 
and for each kindness thus bestowed upon her child, 
she rendered thanks to Him, whose hand she recog- 
nized in every good. 

Too soon the time allotted to this precious visit 
passed away ; yet much of hope lingered in the sad 
farewell. " Dat dar jaunt to Florida," Aunt Sally 
thought, had cured her master of his thirst for novelty ; 
and now, she trusted, she should never more be widely 
separated from her daughter. 

Yina's eyes were dim, as from her cabin door, she 
watched her mother's departing form. A heavy sad- 
ness oppressed her spirits ; and the kind voice of her 
husband, who stood beside her, could scarce dispel her 
gloom. But many little motherly duties claimed her 
thoughts. Young Peter wanted his supper, while little 
Levin raised his pleading voice to beg for her attend- 
ance ; and soon the pleasure of contributing to the 
comfort of those she loved restored her accustomed 
cheerfulness. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 
A SLAVE MOTHER'S "GOOD-BYE." 

Aunt Sally rode briskly homeward. She had 
not felt so happy in many years as now. Her children 
were all comfortably situated; even Vina, about whom 
she had been so anxious, had now so kind a husband, 
and such fine "peart" children, that she could no 
longer repine at her lot. 

A few weeks glided calmly on. Summer stole 
noiselessly away, and Autumn came with quiet steps, 
to cool the parched earth. 

The cotton fields grew brown with age, and snowy 
tufts burst from the ripened bolls. Tremulous they 
hung — those fleecy tassels — and the cool breeze, as 
with mock sympathy it sighed among the withering 
leaves, lingered to whisper softly to these fair strangers, 
and toss in amorous sport their dainty tresses. 

The crops were all gathered in. Beside the gin- 
house lay great heaps of hoary cotton-seed, and the 
mighty press had uttered the last creak of the season. 
Under a shed hard-by, the old-fashioned, tight-laced 
bales were huddled close together, and yet it was not 
winter. 

The hands upon the place were very proud. There 
was not another plantation in all the country round, 

(U3) 



144 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

but had great fields, where still in fleecy clusters the 
precious cotton gleamed. 

It is night — and the people are all in their cabins. 
The smiles of triumph which but a few hours since 
brightened their faces have departed, and a wail of 
anguish resounds through all the quarter. Mr. 
Peoples has bought a sugar farm away down on tho 
dreadfnl Gulf Coast, and thither his slaves are all to be 
conveyed, as soon as they can make the necessary pre- 
parations for the journey. 

Look ! Aunt Sally comes forth alone from her 
cabin door. Tears are upon her cheeks, and her 
breast is convulsed with sorrow. 

She walks slowly and with drooping head along a 
narrow footpath leading to the woods. She kneels 
upon the rustling leaves. Oh ! with what humble 
trustfulness she offers her agonized petitions ! Has 
she heard that it is written, "Like as a father pitieth 
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him ?" 

The preparations for emigration were conducted 
with the bustle and confusion usual on large planta- 
tions. There were full three hundred slaves ; and 
their master intended to carry along provisions suffi- 
cient for one year's consumption, as well as corn for 
the horses, mules and cattle. Then all the utensils 
of the farm were collected and repaired ; and each 
family had to arrange its own little store of clothes 
and furniture. 

During the day, the constant occupation of the 
slaves prevented the contemplation of their gloomy 
prospects. At night, however, they had time to think ; 
and then the torrent of their grief broke forth afresh. 
In every cabin might be heard the voice of weeping ; 



A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 145 

and the rude pallets, on which reposed their weary 
limbs, were wet with bitter tears. 

When all was ready, and the cattle and stores had 
been conveyed to the rivers bank, then came the final 
leave-taking. Husbands and wives, brothers and 
sisters, parents and children, who belonged on neigh- 
boring plantations, came with sobs and tears to say 
" farewell" to those whose hearts were breaking. 

Aunt Sally came hurriedly, with a small bundle in 
her hand, from her empty cabin. Hastily she walked 
along the road to Courtland, and paused not until she 

reached the residence of Mr. B , where dwelt her 

youngest child. 

Poor Quail ! henceforth he would be motherless ! He 
saw her form approaching, and ran to meet her. Oh ! 
the tender agony of that last long embrace. 

He was her darling boy, how could she leave him ? 
He clung around her neck. She felt his warm breath 
on her cheek. Saviour ! pity them ! It is their last 
fond meeting — their last heart-crushed "good bye." 

With desperate strength she tore herself from his 
arms ; and with one prayer to Heaven to bless and 
keep her boy, she thrust the little bundle into his 
powerless hand, and hastened on to join her gloomy 
comrades. 

The rendezvous was Bainbridge. To this point some 
came on foot, and others on the boats over the shoals. 
Here they were obliged to wait till all the boats ar- 
rived ; and now a faint hope sprang up in Aunt Sally's 
heart that she might yet see her daughter. She deter- 
mined at least to make one effort. 

A gentleman on horseback was slowly riding by. 
It was Andrew Gist. Hastily she approached him. 



146 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

He pitied her evident distress, and listened kindly to 
the reeital of her sorrows. 

" So your daughter is at McKiernan's. "What is her 
name ?" 

" Her name Vina, Sir." 

" Yina ? why that is Peter's wife." 

" Yes, Sir, her man name Peter. He belongs to Mars 
Levi Gist," 

"Well, I'll find her myself, and send her down to 
see you. Come, cheer up, Auntie, you'll have good 
times yet." 

The field where Mr. McKiernan's people were at 
work was three miles from the landing, but the Ken- 
tuckian's fine horse soon bore him there. 

" Which of you all has a mother at Peoples' ?" said 
he, as he rode up to a group of women. 

" It's Yina's mother whar lives dar, Sir : — yon's 
Yina," replied a young girl, pointing as she spoke, to 
the object of his search. She was working alone, at a 
short distance from her companions, and did not look 
up till she was addressed. 

"Howd'y' Yina, does your mother belong to Peo- 
ples?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

" Well, if you go down to the landing, you'll see the 
last of her, I reckon, for she's going down the river. 
Peoples is moving down to the coast." 

He rode away, and Yina gazed after him in speech- 
less terror. Her mother — the coast — could it be ? One 
moment she started towards the overseer to ask permis- 
sion to go to the river — the next her courage failed 
her, and she felt sure he would not let her go. She 



A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 147 

tried to work, but her limbs seemed palsied, and her 
eyes were full of blinding tears. 

After nearly an hour had passed, she summoned all 
her strength, and left the field. With fearful steps she 
walked to the house, and fortunately her master and 
mistress were both at home. She told them what Mr. 
Gist had said, and touched with pity, they bade her go 
immediately to the landing, and stay with her mother 
as long as the boats remained. 

A strange picture met her eye as she approached the 
river. Along the bank in the dim twilight, gleamed 
the blaze of numerous fires, and around these were 
gathered groups of unhappy slaves. Some were cook- 
ing their simple suppers, and others close huddled 
together, warmed their benumbed limbs, while they 
bewailed, in low sad tones, their gloomy destiny. Mo- 
thers hovered tenderly over the dear little ones that 
never more might hear their fathers' voices, and here 
and there, like a majestic tree by lightning blasted, 
stood a lone father, who had left all — wife, children, 
hope, behind. 

Yina paused, and listened, but in the sad murmur 
that met her ear she heard not her mother's voice. She 
passed on. Four large flat boats were tied to the bank, 
and one of these she timidly entered. 

A great fire was glowing at the further end of the 
boat, and dark figures were moving slowly about in 
the uncertain light. She heard no mirthful voices, no 
gay laugh ; but heavy sighs and mournful wailings 
filled her ears. 

On a low stool near the fire sat a female figure. Her 
bowed head rested on both her hands, and her body 
swayed to and fro, in unison with the melancholy 



148 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

measure of her thoughts. Vina came very near. She 
paused. Aunt Sally raised her head, and with a cry, 
half joy — half anguish, she clasped her daughter to 
her breast. 

" my chile ! I's study in' 'bout you, whether I's 
ever gwine see you agin or not," and she sobbed aloud. 
" Oh ! how can I go and leave you, honey? I shan't 
never come back no more ! 'Way down on de sugar 
farm I shall die, and der wont be no daughter dar to 
see 'em lay me in de grave !" 

Long sat Vina and her mother close together, con- 
versing in low tones, and weeping over their sad doom. 

The slaves who had been gathered around the fires 
upon the bank came in, and wrapping themselves in 
their blankets, lay down to sleep. 

As midnight approached, it was announced that the 
boats would probably not leave Bainbridge until Mon- 
day morning ; and Aunt Sally obtained permission of 
the overseer who had charge, to go home with her 
daughter, and spend the next day which was Saturday, 
at her cabin. Immediately they left the boat, and 
hastened home. 

The hours of that short Saturday passed swiftly by, 
and at night Vina accompanied her mother back to the 
boat. There she left her, promising to come again in 
the morning, that they might spend one more day 
together. 

The dawn of the Sabbath-day saw the affectionate 
daughter on her way to the river. She walked rapidly, 
for every minute of that day was precious. 

She comes in sight of the landing. Why does she 
pause ? and Oh ! what means that heavy groan ? 

The boats have gone ! The fires are smouldering 



A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 149 

on the bank. Here and there lies a fragment of hoe- 
cake or a bit of an old blanket that has been forgotten. 
All is silent. 

Slowly the freighted boats pursued their way be- 
tween the lonely banks of the Tennessee. The trees 
that overhung the stream shivered as they saw their 
leafless branches in the still clear water, but the bright 
mistletoe clung closely to the desolate trunks, and 
strove, with its rich green, to hide their rigid outlines. 
Slowly they floated on. The broad Ohio bore them 
on her breast to the Father of Waters, and still they 
stayed not. The tall cotton-woods that guard the 
Mississippi's banks listened to the murmur of the 
slaves' sad voices ; and every breeze they met went 
sighing past as though it sorrowed with them. 

Their fears were all too true. The sugar farm upon 
the coast was to them as the "Valley of the Shadow 
of Death." 

So many of his slaves died during the first year, that 
Mr. Peoples, when he had made one crop of cane, sold 
his plantation and left the coast. He could not endure 
to see his faithful servants dying there, even though 
he knew the profits of the business would enable him 
to buy others in their stead. So he purchased a plan- 
tation in the north part of Mississippi, and returned, 
with the remnant of his people, to the culture of corn 
and cotton. 

Here, after several years, Aunt Sally sank peace- 
fully to her last, long slumber. She had no dread of 
Death. Long had she waited for his coming; and 
now that she knew he hovered near, her heart was 
filled with holy joy, and all who saw the light of love 
and hope that beamed from her faded eye, knew well 



150 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

that she had been with Jesus. And when her pulse 
was still, and her cold hands lay meekly folded across 
her breast, a heavenly smile still lingered on her face; 
blest token that her weary spirit had reached at length 
that happy home where she had so longed to rest. 

Her master, who, during her sickness, had done all 
in his power for her comfort, wrote to inform her ab- 
sent children of her decease. He told them of her 
faith and patience, and of her final triumph over the 
terrors of the grave; and added that he provided a 
neat shroud and coffin for her sleeping dust, and 
buried her with every token of respect. 

Happy Aunt Sally. She had never known other 
than the " sunny side" of slavery. Neither of her 
masters had been capable of wanton cruelty, and her 
excellent character had made her a favorite with both. 
Yet the system of slavery cursed her life. It bereaved 
her of the husband of her youth, and robbed her of her 
beloved children. It tore her from scenes endeared by 
association with all her pleasures, and dragged her 
away into strange lands, of which, from her childhood, 
she had heard nought but tales of horror. 

And for all these, what compensation reaped she 
from the institution. Verily, none — save such as is 
bestowed upon the faithful ox. Even the unusual 
kindness of her master could grant no other boon than 
a shroud, a coffin, and a promised letter to tell her 
children that they were motherless. 

Such is a " South Side View." 



CHAPTER XIX. 
THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 

On the twelfth of November, 1S33, Mrs. Gist was 
married to Mr. John Hogun, a man more than twenty 
years her senior. He possessed few personal attrac- 
tions, and still fewer intellectual or social accomplish- 
ments. But he owned two large plantations, one in 
the neighborhood of Mrs. Gist's residence, and another 
in Mississippi. Both of these were well stocked, the 
slaves numbering more than one hundred. 

The marriage of their beloved mistress caused great 
grief among the slaves on the plantation, for it fore- 
shadowed the partings that must come. 

The servants, thirty-four in number, were to be 
divided equally between the mother and her four 
children (one daughter was born after her father's 
death). In order to this, they were placed in five lots, 
and these were so arranged as to keep the families 
too-ether. These lots were not of equal value; but the 
discrepancy was to be made up by a corresponding 
difference in the distribution of the other property, so 
that the revolting scenes of an auction might be 

avoided. 

The mistress drew first. Old Frank, and Aunt 

[1511 



152 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

Peggy, with their three daughters, together with a 
yellow boy named Nelson, fell to her share. She felt 
disappointed, for she had always hoped to retain Peter 
in her service; but notwithstanding he loved and 
honored his mistress, he was grateful that he had not 
fallen under the dominion of her husband. The re- 
maining lots were not drawn at that time, as the chil- 
dren were still very young. 

About a month after the marriage — a sad and 
gloomy month to all upon the place — Mrs. Hogun, 
with her children and servants, left the quiet home 
where she had spent so many happy hours, and went 
to the residence of her husband. 

This was a large framed house, situated on a rich 
plantation, about four miles from her late abode, and 
four and a half miles from Tuscumbia. The former 
Mrs. Hogun had been dead four or five years, and her 
eldest daughter, Miss Louisa, had since her decease, 
presided at her father's table. This young lady was 
married soon after her father, and there were then 
three children left at home, John, Eobert, and Thir- 
muthis. 

Mr. Hogun was emphatically a hard man. His 
heart knew no mercy to those upon whom the laws of 
his State, as well as the customs of surrounding society 
allowed him to trample. To his own children he was 
ever indulgent; to his neighbors and acquaintances, 
smooth-tongued and polite; but he had a will that 
could not brook resistance, and a temper which, when 
roused, was capable of inflicting any cruelty. He con- 
sidered his servants as his, body and soul, and strove 
to compel them to make his wishes their law in all 
things. He allowed none of them to marry off the 



THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 153 

the place, and by watching them carefully, and pursu- 
ing prompt measures, he usually managed to bring 
them together according to his mind. 

When he saw a young man and woman engaged in 
any little sport together, or noticing each other in any 
way, if he thought they would make a good match, he 
ordered the overseer to build them a house. Accord- 
ingly, on the first convenient day thereafter, a sufficient 
number of the hands were called to the work, and the 
cabin was erected. It was but a small task to complete 
the structure — one little log-room, having a door on 
one side, a small unglazed window with a wooden 
shutter on the other, and at one end a chimney, built 
of sticks and smeared with mud. Nothing further was 
considered necessary. The ground sufficed for all the 
purposes of floor, bed, table, and chairs ; unless the 
inmates, by working on holidays, or by selling eggs or 
chickens, managed to procure some little comforts for 
themselves. 

When the house was finished, the master ordered 
Bob, the head man to bring Joe and Phillis, and put 
them into their house. Then, putting a small padlock 
on the door, he gave the key to Bob, saying, " Here, 
Bob, I have put my seal on this door ; now here is the 
key ; you keep this nigger and this wench together, 
or, by jings, you'll pay for it. Do you make Joe build 
a fire for Phillis, and see that Phillis cooks for Joe, 
and washes his clothes ; and, mind, Bob, I shall look 
to you." 

No expostulations from either party could alter his 
decree. He had been to the trouble of building a house 
for them, and now they should live in it, or take the 
consequences of braving his authority. 



154 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

When such were the marriage rites, what must have 
been the morals of the place ? 

The slaves on this plantation were worked very 
hard. Before the dawn of day the horn was sounded 
to call them to the field, and in hurrying times, they 
were not allowed to go to rest till late at night. "Cot- 
ton," — "cotton" — was ever the watchword and reply; 
and the great crops which they " made" brought wealth 
into the master's coffers, while they drained the life- 
founts of the toiling slaves. 

One year, however, they had, providentially, a little 
rest. The crop was nearly destroyed by the early 
frost, very few bolls ripening at all. 

Late in this " unlucky'' 1 year, a gang of slaves were 
one day repairing the fence around a large field, and a 
few were picking the cotton from the scattering bolls. 

"Well, boys," said the overseer of a neighboring 
plantation, who chanced to pass, " aint you sorry you've 
got no cotton to pick this year ?" 

"Ah! no, mass'r," replied one of the oldest men, 
" we's mighty glad in place o' bein' sorry. De Lord 
has done a mon's good work for us, mass'r ; if he'd 
on'y sent de fross a little sooner, we wouldn't had none 
to pick at all." 

The overseer, angered by the old man's "impu- 
dence," cursed him bitterly. 

" Yah, yah, mass'r, 'taint no use bein' mad, I reckon, 
kase nobody aint to blame but de Lord, and it wont 
do no good to be mad wid him ; can't skeer him a 
cussing, no how." 

For six years after the marriage of their mistress, 
the slaves belonging to the Gist estate were kept upon 
the plantation. The overseer with his family took 



THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 155 

possession of the house that had so long been the abode 
of peace and happiness ; and everywhere on the place 
a new order of things was established. 

Peter was made foreman of the hands, which posi- 
tion he retained as long as the family of slaves was 
kept together. The overseer gave him his orders at 
night, with particular directions concerning the next 
day's work. In the morning he was obliged to rise 
first, to call his fellow-servants from their slumbers, 
and to see that each was in his place, and that his 
his work was properly commenced. All day he took 
the fore-row and led his gang. At night it was his busi- 
ness to see that the tools they had used were safe and 
in order, and the people were all in their cabins, 
before he could go to bed. In picking time, he also 
was obliged each night to weigh the cotton, and to 
report to the overseer the number of pounds which 
each of the hands had picked. His extraordinary 
memory was now a great advantage to him, for though 
he could not write, he was never known to report 
erroneously the contents of the baskets. 

The loss of their kind master was keenly felt by the 
slaves during all these years. The overseers, always 
men of the lowest stamp in intellect and morals, had 
full sway. If they succeeded in making a good crop, 
they satisfied their employers, the administrators of the 
estate ; and why should they hesitate to use any means 
that might advance this end ? The slaves, men and 
women, were therefore required to labor at their utmost 
strength ; and when over- wearied, they found no sym- 
pathy. The kind word of encouragement was want- 
ing, the voice of commendation became strange unto 
their ears. 



156 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

In the year 1839, it was thought best, by the guar- 
dians of the estate, to sell the plantation and to hire 
out the negroes. The tidings of this approaching 
change in their condition spread a panic throughout the 
little community. They had suffered much since their 
master died, but they had suffered together. Now to 
be scattered — they could not bear the thought ! 

Many were the consultations which they held together 
over their gloomy prospects ; but none could suggest 
a plan of escape from the ills that threatened them. 
They could only submit to their fate, and meet what- 
ever awaited them with patience — since hope had fled. 

" Oh !" thought Peter, " what's the use in livin' ? 
Mass'r Levi's gone, and Levin; and then missus, she 
must go too, and leave us all without nobody to care 
whether we lives or dies. Here I've served the family 
so many years ; and now I must go to wait on some 
strangers, that wont care for nuthin' only to git all the 
work they can for their money. Oh ! if they send me 
off where I can't go to see Vina, it '11 kill her, sure." 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE PLANTATION "BROKEN UP." 

The last Christmas came which these doomed people 
were to spend together at the old place, and instead of 
the mirth which usually reigned at that season, mourn- 
ing and weeping filled its hours. The slaves had all 
been hired out here and there, and, after the holidays, 
they were to go to their new homes. Fourteen of the 
number, including Peter, were destined to spend the 
ensuing year on the plantation of a Mr. Threat, about 
four miles from Bainbridge. 

The one great dread, that of being conveyed still 
further from his wife, was now removed, but other- 
wise his situation was not bettered. Mr. Threat had 
immigrated from Virginia, about four years before, and 
had bought a small plantation. He owned no slaves, 
and was therefore obliged to hire them year by year. 

Peter, having led the hands on the old place, was 
still retained as head-man, and his labors were in no 
degree diminished. His fare too, was scanty, for the 
young master was just beginning in the world, and 
could ill afford an abundance of wholesome food to 
other people's negroes. 

The Threat family, as we have said, came from Vir- 
ginia, and though the young man to whom Peter and 
his companions were hired, was not rich, yet his 

[1573 



158 THE KIDNAPPED AND TUE RANSOMED. 

parents, who resided in the neighborhood, possessed a 
competency. His mother, we should have said, for the 
elder Mr. Threat had failed in business in Virginia, 
and his property was all sold under the hammer. Two 
brothers of his wife, men of great wealth, bid it in, 
and settled it upon their sister and her children ; giv- 
ing to her the entire control during her lifetime. The 
family then removed to Alabama, where Mrs. Threat 
assumed the reins of government. Her husband lived 
with her, and she permitted her servants to wait upon 
him, but in business matters, he was not consulted. 

Mrs. Threat kept no overseer, and hesitated not to 
show her subjects that the sole authority over them 
was vested in herself, and that her arm was strong 
to punish their transgressions. She frequently rode 
over her fields with cowhide and rope at hand, and in- 
spected the labor of her slaves. If she found one of 
them dilatory or otherwise remiss, she quickly dis- 
mounted, and ordered him to strip. Then after com- 
manding one of his fellow slaves to tie him, she vigor- 
ously applied the cowhide to his naked back, until she 
deemed that he had expiated his offence. 

One spring morning, while Peter was hired to her 
son, she mounted one of her carriage horses, a large 
bay, and rode to the field. She had, the day before, 
whipped a large, powerful negro, and on this morning 
she started with her rope and cowhide, intending to in- 
flict the same punishment upon another who had 
incurred her wrath. But when she had nearly reached 
the spot where her people were at work, her horse took 
fright, and springing aside, threw her to the ground. 
The slaves hastened to her assistance. They bore her 
home, and a doctor was soon summoned. Her hip 



THE PLANTATION "BROKEN UP." " 159 

was badly injured, and it was a long time before she 
recovered. Ever after, she used a crutch, and dragged 
one foot after her when she walked. Her good right 
arm, however, was not weakened, as the scarred backs 
of many of her slaves could testify. 

This may be regarded as an extraordinary instance 
of female "chivalry," but in truth, similar cases are 
not rare. Frail, delicate ladies, whom one would in- 
stinctively shield from a rude breath of the free air, 
can strip and tie their slaves, both men and women, 
and beat them with the zest of a base-born overseer.* 

During the summer which Peter spent at Mr. 
Threat's — 1840 — the well remembered political excite- 
ment of " Tippecanoe and Tyler too," spread through 
that vicinity. A Convention was held at Tuscumbia, 
and party men on both sides were loud in the defence 
of the liberties of their country. Speeches were made, 
songs were sung; and each busy patriot seemed to 
imagine himself destined to save the nation from mis- 
rule and consequent destruction. The excitement was 
contagious. Ladies' fair hands embroidered banners, 
and their soft voices joined in the exciting songs of 
the times. 

The slaves could not remain uninterested listeners 
to the conversations concerning liberty that were held 
everywhere — at the dinner-table, and on the street. 
They interpreted literally the language of their masters, 
and in their simple hearts imagined that the dawn of 
libertv had come. What else could it mean ? The 
white people were already free; and if liberty was to 

* In making this assertion, the writer relies not wholly upon in- 
formation derived from Peter, but speaks also from personal 
knowledge. 



160 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

become universal — and people on each side declared it 
would become so, if their party should succeed in the 
election — then the " black folks " would enjoy its 
blessings, "sure." 

On Sundays the slaves from "town" met their 
plantation friends at their fish-traps on the river, and 
there the joyful news was communicated — in whispers 
at first — but as they became more certain that their 
hopes were well-grounded, they gradually grew bolder, 
till at length they dared to discuss the subject in their 
religious meetings. The preachers were inspired by 
this bright hope of freedom, and as it grew nearer its 
imagined fulfilment they preached it to their people 
with thrilling eloquence. 

" 'Taint no dream, nor no joke," cried one of these ; 
"de time's a'most yer. Der won't be no mo' whippin', 
no mo' oversee's, no mo' patrollers, no mo' huntin' wid 
dogs ; everybody's a gwine to be free, and de white 
mass'r's a gwine to pay 'em for der work. 0, my 
brudders ! de bressed time's a knockin' at de door ! 
De good Lord '11 ramshackle de devil, and all de people 
in dis yer world, bof white and black, is a gwine to 
live togedder in peace." 

Alas ! their bright visions were speedily shadowed. 
Their masters learned the subject of their earnest dis- 
cussions, and then a system of espionage was estab- 
lished, which pursued its objects with a vindictive 
energy worthy of the best days of the Inquisition. 

The black preachers were silenced ; all assembling 
of the slaves forbidden ; and patrols established 
through all the country. Every negro encountered by 
the patrols was whipped, if he had no pass ; and even 
that important slip of paper often lost its magic, if the 



THE PLANTATION BROKEN UP. 161 

bearer chanced to have the reputation of being a man 

of spirit. 

A panic pervaded the whole community. "The 
negroes intend to rise," was whispered with white lips 
by timid ladies in their morning visits ; and every sigh 
of the night- wind through the lofty trees was inter- 
preted by the fearful into the rush of black assassins. 
Old stories of negro insurrections were revived, and 
the most faithful and attached servants became objects 
of suspicion. 

This excitement, however, like that to which it owed 
its origin, at length passed away. The few old privi- 
leges were restored to the slaves, and the services of 
the patrols were no longer in constant requisition. Yet 
the confidence of the slaveholder is always imperfect, 
and easily shaken. When injustice constitutes the 
base of the system, how can faith adorn the super- 
structure ? 

Some of the better class of servants about Tuscum- 
bia have not to this clay recovered from the effects of 
the suspicions which they then incurred. Many, in 
their joyful excitement, had run after the wagons that 
bore in procession the log cabin with its admirers, and 
cried, " The year of jubilee is come ! We all's a gwine 
to be free I" These were almost crushed by the dis- 
appointment, and by the sufferings consequent on 
too frank an expression of their hopes. They were 
scourged and persecuted in a manner befitting the nature 
of their offence. 

Toward the close of 1840, Peter was hired for 
the ensuing year to Mr. McKiernan. To this he was 
greatly opposed, even though he would by such an 
arrangement be able daily to enjoy the society of his 



162 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

family. He loved his wife and children most fondly, 
but their master had long sought to buy him, and 
Peter feared that if he went there, he might succeed in 
accomplishing his wish. The idea of becoming the 
property of such a man was dreadful to him, and this 
fear shadowed the otherwise bright prospect of living 
constantly with his beloved Vina. Yet he carefully 
concealed his feelings on the subject from any that 
would report them to Mr. McKiernan. His wife was 
in the tyrant's power, and he dared not offend him. 



CHAPTER XXI. 
BABY LIFE IN THE CABINS. 

We left Vina at the landing straining her weeping 
eyes to retain the images of the flat-boats that were 
bearing the goods of Mr. Peoples down the river. 
Long she stood gazing there ; even till the last faint 
ontline of a boat was lost, and then with swollen eyes 
and aching heart she returned to her cabin. 

She had then two children. Peter, the eldest was a 
little more than three years old, and Levin, who was 
born on the twenty -fourth of June previous, had seen 
about six months. They were L peart,' healthy little 
fellows, and they received much better care than is 
usually bestowed upon the children of a field woman. 

At that time there was no old woman on the place 
to take care of the children ; and every mother, when 
she went to the field in the morning, locked her little 
ones in her cabin, leaving some bread where they 
could get it when they became hungry. Or, if there 
was one too small to hplp itself to bread, the thought- 
ful mother tied a little mush in a rag upon its finger, 
so that when, as babies will, it thrust its finger in its 
mouth, it could suck the mush through the rag, and 
that would keep it quiet. 

Sometimes, when the day was very hot, the mothers 



[16?] 



164 THE KIDNAPPED AND TIIE RANSOMED. 

left their cabin doors open, that the little ones might 
have air. Then those that were able would creep out 
over the low threshold, and perhaps fall asleep on the 
hot ground. " Many's the time," says Vina, " I come 
home and find my baby sleepin' with the sun a beatin' 
on its head, enough, 'peared like, to addle its brains." 

Yery few infants lived on this plantation. The 
mothers were obliged to work so hard before their 
birth, and so often suffered cruel beatings while in a 
situation that required the utmost kindness, that most 
of the children, if born alive, died in spasms when a 
few days old. 

When Yina's children were small, not an article of 
clothing was provided for them by the master, till they 
were old enough to be employed in some light work 
about the house. Their mother might manage to 
clothe them, or let them go naked. But for the last 
few years, they have lost so many in consequence of 
the total lack of necessaries, that now they give each 
mother clothing for her child. But if the baby dies, 
every little garment must be carried back to the mis- 
tress, not even excepting a covering for the tiny 
corpse. If the mother cannot provide something to 
shroud her baby, she may have it buried without. 
Those clothes must be laid by for some future necessity. 

In 1831, October twenty-fifth, another little voice 
was heard in Yina's cabin, pleading for care. She 
called the baby William, and he was a fine brave boy. 
His little brothers gave him a joyous welcome, and so 
did his fond parents ; though, in truth, they scarcely 
knew how they were to supply his baby wants. " But 
'pears like," says the mother, "every baby I had I 



BABY-LIFE IN THE CABINS. 165 

growed smarter, so 't wlien I had three, I tuck just as 
good care of 'em all as I did of the first one." 

When little William was a few months old, a child 
belonging to a woman named Ann, was burned to 
death while its mother was away in the field at work. 
It was winter, and the mother, as was necessary at that 
season, had built sufficient fire to keep her half-naked 
children comfortable ; and then, locking her door, had 
left them to amuse themselves during her absence. 
When she came in, her child was lying lifeless upon 
the clay hearth.. It had crept too near the pretty 
blaze, and had probably fallen on the burning coals. 

The burning of Ann's child brought about a new 
order of things on the plantation. Thereafter, every 
mother was required to leave her little children at the 
kitchen when she went to the field, and then the cook 
could mind them. 

One morning, not long after this law was made, 
Vina was "pushed" to get out in time. She had slept 
but little during the night, and she did not wake as 
early as usual. So she thought she would leave the 
children in the cabin till she came in to nurse her 
baby, and then she would carry them to the kitchen. 

The other little ones were crowing and crying about 
when the mistress's eye missed Vina's. She counted 
them all over. 

" Where are Yina's children ?" 

" She never brought 'em dis mornin', ma'am." 

"Well, I'll settle with her when she comes. I've 
told them all not to leave their children at home — they 
don't care whether they're burnt up or not." 

When Vina came at breakfast time to her cabin, (all 
but the mothers of young children ate their breakfast 



166 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

before they went out) she took her three little ones to 
the kitchen, and sat down there to nurse the baby 
Soon the mistress came in, holding the cowhide partly 
behind her. 

" How's this, Vina?" said she, "I thought I told 
you that you was n't to leave your children in your 
house of a morning." 

" Well, Missus, I's pushed this mornin'. I had n't 
time " 

" I don't care how much you was pushed. I told 
you to bring them here ; and if the sun was an hour 
high you should obey me. Lay down your child; 
I'm going to whip you now, for I said I would do it. 
If your children had got burnt up, you would have 
blamed me about it." 

" No, ma'am, I would n't " 

w Lay your child down. I'll let you know you are 
to obey me." 

Yina obeyed; and when her weary shoulders had 
received twenty hard lashes, she went out to her work. 
Verily, as a lady in that neighborhood remarked, not 
long since, to a Northern friend: " The negroes ought 
to be very thankful to us for talcing care of them : they 
make us a great deal of trouble" 



CHAPTER XXII. 
FACTS. 

Among the slaves on Mr. McKiernan's plantation 
were a number of handsome women. Of these the 
master was extremely fond, and many of them he be- 
guiled with vile flatteries, and cheated by false prom- 
ises of future kindness, till they became victims to his 
unbridled passions. 

Upon these unfortunate women fell the heavy hatred 
of their mistress ; and year after year, as new instances 
of her husband's perfidy came to her knowledge, her 
jealousy ran higher, till at length reason seemed ban- 
ished from her mind, and kindliness became a stranger 
to her heart. Then she sought a solace in the wine- 
cup ; and the demon of intoxication fanned the fires 
of hatred that burned within her, till they consumed 
all that was womanly in her nature, and rendered her 
an object of contempt and ridicule, even among her 
own dependents. 

The master was, at the time of which we are writing, 
not far from fifty years of age. He was short and 
burly in person, with a large head, and a very red 
face. His hair was quite grey, and as he walked 
towards the quarter in the morning with his hat on 
one side, cursing and spitting with equal zeal, he 

[167] 



16S THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

looked, as some of his slaves remarked, "like a big buz- 
zard just ready to fly." 

Yina thoroughly understood her master's character ; 
she knew also the temper of her mistress; and she 
strove by her prudence and correctness of demeanor, 
to avoid exciting the evil passions of either. But one 
day, when William was a baby, her trial came. The 
following is her own account of her contest with her 
master, and it shows that she possessed a brave, true 
spirit : 

"I was in my house a spinnin' one rainy day, and 
firs' I knowed, Mass'r he come to the door, and ax me 
what was I doin'. I told him I's a spinnin' fine yarn. 
1 Who's thar with you ?' says he, ' Thar aint no per- 
son yer but my chillerns,' says I; and so he come in 
and sent Peter and Levin out. I knowed what was a 
comin' then, for his eyes looked mighty mean. 

" He sot down and talked till I got tired a hearin', 
and I told him I wished he'd go 'way and leave me 
alone. I told him he got a wife o' his own, and I 
didn't never want no fuss with her. Well, he 'lowed 
she wouldn't never know nothin' about it, no how, so 
it wouldn't do her no hurt. 

"I told him that thar wasn't my principle, to wrong 
any person behind their back, thinkin' they wouldn't 
know it. I wouldn't like any body should do me so. 
At las' I told him I got a task to do, and if he wouldn't 

go off, and let me do it, I'd go myself; so I started 

for the door. 

"He sprung after me, and cotch me by the neck of 
my coat, and tore it half way down the skirt behind. 
That made me mad, and I fell at him, and tore hia 



FACTS. 169 

shirt mighty nigh off his back. I pulled his hair too, 
right smart, and scratched his face, and then tripped 
and flung him on the floor. 

" He was powerful mad when he got up, and he say 
he gwine whip me well for that. I told him just so 
sure as he give me a lick, I'd tell Missus what it's for ; 
and he knowed he never'd git no chance to whip me 
'bout my work, so he neeedn't make no such pretence. 
' You tell her one word,' says he, 'bout this yer, and 
I'll cut your two ears off close to your head I' 'Wo, 
sir, you wont,' says I, 'you know you dares not crap 
one o' your servants.' 

" Then he went up to the house, and slipped in sly, 
and put on a clean shirt. But that thar raggety one 
never was seen. His wife missed it, though, for she 
knowed he put on a clean shirt that day. She axed 
all the house servants had they seen it, but none of 
'em didn't know nuthin' 'bout it. Then she 'lowed 
some of 'em done stole it, and she laid it to Jinny, — 
she was cook then. She 'lowed she done give it to 
Jacob her husband. They both 'clared they's inno- 
cent ; but the missus and the overseer give 'em more'n 
three hundred lashes to make 'em own they got it. 

11 ' One of your best shirts is gone,' says she to the 
Mass'r, ' and I'm determined to whip the servants till 
I make them tell where it is. I've had Jinny and 
Jacob whipped well, but they wont own any thing 
about it. I shall have to try the others.' 

"'Jinny,' says Mass'r, 'what about that shirt of 
mine ? 

" ' Missus has whipped me 'bout that shirt, sir,' says 
Jinny, ' an' I don't know no more 'bout whar it is an' 
you does yourself.' 
8 



110 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" ' Well, go 'long,' says lie, 'but mind, Jinny, you've 
got that to find.' 

" All the house servants got whipped 'bout it, but 
none of 'em didn't take so much as Jinny ; and they 
had every house in the quarter searched. There was 
more'n five hundred blows struck 'bout that shirt, and 
they never found no sign of it. 

" Two or three weeks after, old Mass'r come into 
the field to whar we's plowin' ! He tried some o' the 
other women's ploughs, and then he come to me. 
' Well, girl,' says he, 'how does your plough run ?" 
" ' Oh ! it runs well enough,' says I. 
" ' Let me try it,' says he. 

'"I don't want nobody a holdin' my plough', says I. 

" ' The devil you don't V I see he's gittin' mad ; so 

I stepped back and drapped the line. He cotch it, 

and ploughed a few rods. ' What you think now,' 

says he 'of a servant fightin' her master?' 

" ' What you think, sir, 'bout a Mass'r doin' his 
servants that way ?' says I. ' You see 'em misbehave 
with any body else, and you'd whip 'em sure I" 
" ' Yes, but Fm your master.' 1 

" ' That don't make no difference to me, sir,' says I. 
' How could you see your poor house servants cut up 
so 'bout that shirt, and you knowin' whar it was all 
the time? I b'iieve I'll go up this very night, and 
tell 'em all about it.' 

« <By Gr— <V says he, 'I wish you would. I'd like 
to have you tell it. I'd give you the devil.' 

"But I didn't have no notion o' tellin' ! They had 
storms enough without havin' any 'bout me, and I 
knowed I could alters keep him away by fightin' him. 
I liked to fight him a little, anyhow, he's so mean. If I'd 



FACTS. 171 

told, I'd allers had Missus agin me, and they mought 
'a' sold me away from my family, and that would 'a' 
been the end o' me." 

Yina's wisdom in refraining from reporting to her 
mistress, may be inferred from the following incident, 
with the circumstances of which she was well ac- 
quainted. 

Jinny, the cook, had a young daughter named 
Maria. She was small of her age, a bright mulatto, 
and uncommonly pretty ; and her mistress had always 
kept her about the house. 

One morning, when Maria was about thirteen years 
old, the mistress called her to perform some little 
service, but she did not answer. She sent to the 
kitchen, but she was not there, and, thinking she had 
perhaps fallen asleep somewhere in the house, the lady 
proceeded to look for her in the different rooms. She 

opened the parlor door, and there was the child 

with her master. 

All the fierceness of her nature was aroused. Her 
husband immediately mounted his horse and rode off 
to escape the storm ; though well he knew that its full 
fury would fall upon the young head of his victim. 

The enraged woman seized the trembling child and 
put her in a buck. Then she whipped her till she was 
tired, but not satisfied ; for as soon as she had rested 
her weary arms, she flew at her again, and after beat- 
ing her till she had exhausted her own strength a 
second time, she shut her up in the brick smoke-house. 

The matter was no secret, for she told the story to 
all the servants, and to every one else who chanced to 
come to the house while her wrath was burning. . 



172 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

For two weeks she kept the poor girl constantly im- 
prisoned there, except that every day she took her out 
long enough to whip her. She gave her nothing to 
eat or drink, and all the light or air that could enter 
the gloomy place came through the small holes that 
were left by the builders to admit air to the bacon. 
Through these, Jinny, when she could steal an oppor- 
tunity, passed small pieces of bread, and a little water 
in a vial, that her child might not die of hunger. 

Some of the elderly servants expostulated with their 
mistress, and even hinted that Maria was but a child, 
and that it was " mass'r" that was to blame. " She'll 
know better in future," was the stern reply; "after I've 
done with her, she'll never do the like again through 
ignorance." 

11 But she'll die, missus, if you keeps her shut up 
thar much longer." 

" That's just what I want ; I hope she will die." 

The poor child grew very thin and pale, and some- 
times, when she was taken out to receive her daily 
whipping, she could hardly stand. " missus," said 
she one day, " if you whips me any more it will kill 
me." 

" That's just what I want ; I hope it will; "was the 
only reply. But some merciful angel restrained her 
cruel arm for that one day, and she thrust her back 
without beating her. 

" Please, missus, wont you let me have a drink of 
water?" said the child, as the door was once more 
about to close upon her. 

" No ; not a drop of water shall you have, nor a 
mouthful to eat ; " and she shut the door upon the 
youthful sufferer. 



FACTS. 173 

After she had kept her thus imprisoned for two 
weeks, her eldest son, Master Charles, came from 
Louisiana on a visit. To him his mother told the story 
of Maria 1 s depravity, and begged him to take her away 
with him. " Sell her," said she, " to the hardest mas- 
ter you can find, for, if she stays here, I shall certainly 
kill her." 

Master Charles readily assented to his mother's pro- 
posal, and proceeded at once to the smoke-house to let 
Maria out. Poor child, how changed was she from 
the bright young girl of two weeks before ! Her face 
had now an ashy hue, and her large eyes were dull 
and sunken. Her flesh, too, was all gone ; so that she 
was indeed frightful to look at. 

"Why, mother," said the young man, "you must 
have this girl fattened up or she will never sell. I 
should be ashamed to offer her for sale looking as she 
does now." 

The mistress went to the kitchen. "Jinny," said 
she, " I want you to feed any young mistress well, and 
fatten her for the market." 

Poor Jinny was greatly distressed, and as soon as 
she could find him alone, she begged young Master 
Charles not to sell her child. 

"O Aunt Jinny," said he, "I am not going to sell 
her. I want to take her home with, me, to get her 
away from the old lady. I shall keep her myself, and 
I'll take good care of her. 

The young man kept his word. He took her to 
Louisiana, and kept her till she had recovered her 
health and her good looks. Then he hired her out to 
a lady of his acquaintance, who taught her to sew, and 
she became an excellent seamstress. A few years after, 



174 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

when he came home on a visit, he brought her with 
him that she might see her mother. She was then a 
large, fine looking woman, so changed from the poor 
persecuted child that left them, that her friends conld 
scarcely credit her identity. Yet, though years had 
passed, she dared not come into the presence of her 
angered mistress. Master Charles left her at his sister's ; 
and only when her enemy had left the plantation for 
the day, did Maria venture to steal a visit to her early 
friends. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 
PETER'S YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 

On the first day of January 1841, Peter commenced 
his labors on the plantation of Mr. McKiernan. Now 
came his most intimate acquaintance with the realities 
of slavery. He had witnessed much suffering both in 
Kentucky, and also since his removal to Alabama ; and 
had even endured, in his own person, enough to give 
him some idea of the meaning of the word slave, but 
never did he comprehend its full, fearful import till he 
learned it here. 

Not that he suffered personal abuse, for aside from two 
or three violent cursings, he received during the year, no 
unkind treatment. This exemption he owed partly to 
his own cautious avoidance of any act or word that could 
annoy his irritable master ; and partly, no doubt, to the 
fact that Mr. McKiernan wished to buy him, but was 
well aware that he could not be purchased from the 
estate of his late master without his own consent. Mrs. 
Iiogun, his former mistress, was still his kindest friend ; 
and though she had now no real authority over any of 
the slaves except the six that had been allotted to her- 
self, she still possessed great influence with those who 
managed the estate ; and she would never sanction the 
sale, against his will, of one of her favorite servants. 



176 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

So Mr. McKiernan was wondrous kind to Peter. He 
employed him during part of the year as moulder in 
making brick, with the professed intention of building 
new brick cabins for his people ; but to this day the 
old log huts remain their habitations. 

It was not in personal sufferings or privations that 
Peter found the bitterest woes of slavery. It was the 
stifling influence of the deep degradation of his race 
that most oppressed his spirit. The moral malaria of 
the place filled his blood with hatred of the oppressions 
by which it was engendered ; and his own conscious- 
ness of higher aspirations than those indulged who 
called themselves his masters taught him that, though 
his skin was black, they were, in truth, beneath him 
in all that constitutes a man. 

But though Peter found much to sadden his spirit 
while he remained on Mr. McKiernan's place, his con- 
stant presence there was a rich blessing to his family. 
Yina had now, in addition to the three children we 
have previously named, a little daughter about three 
years old. She had, during the autumn of 1833, buried 
a baby a week old ; and little Silas, after remaining 
with her just one year, was borne away to the hill-side 
in August, 1836. Again in March, 1840, a little 
daughter, five months old, was strangled by the croup. 
In July, 1841, another little boy was welcomed to 
their humble cabin. They called him Bernard, and 
for three years he remained the pet of all the little 
household. Then he was seized with spasms — and 
soon his merry voice was hushed, and his little form 
grew cold and stiff in death. 

The three boys, Peter, Levin and William, were 
now old enough to work on the plantation, and their 



peter's year at m°kiernan's. 177 

obedience and kindness to their mother fully rewarded 
all the care she had bestowed upon them. Yet she 
was forced even now to labor very hard to keep them 
comfortably clad. She made all their clothes herself, 
and washed and mended them by night. Their stock- 
ings, too, she knit, though she was obliged first to card 
the wool and spin it. Of this the slaves had usually 
as much as they needed for stockings, if they could get 
time to manufacture it. The master had plenty of 
sheep, and was not in the habit of selling the wool. 

All the fragments of their worn-out clothes the care- 
ful mother saved, and pieced them into bed-quilts. 
She managed to get help to quilt these, by inviting in 
the other women on Saturday nights. They were not 
allowed to leave their cabins after the blowing of the 
horn for them to go to bed ; but they were welcome 
to sit up and work till morning, if they could furnish 
themselves with lights. 

Thus, in exhausting and continual toil, had passed 
the years of Yina's motherhood. Her husband had 
been unable to share her cares, except on Sundays, 
when he had done all he could to aid her in her labors. 
No wonder she was glad when every night his smile 
brightened her cabin, and his pleasant voice beguiled 
her hour of toil ; and yet, in her unselfish heart, she 
wished his lot had fallen elsewhere. 

Peter, as we have seen, had been long accus- 
tomed to plantation life ; and, during the ten years 
that had elapsed since his master's death, he had seen 
many hardships. But still, the kindness of his mis- 
tress had never failed him; and even when she no 
longer possessed the power to ameliorate his condition, 
the knowledge that she pitied him, and exerted all 
8* 



178 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

her influence in his behalf, endued him with new 
strength to bear his troubles. But on this plantation 
a phase of slave-life was presented for his observance, 
new, and more revolting than any he had elsewhere 
witnessed ; for here the women suffered most, and 
oftenest by their mistress' hand, or in obedience to her 
orders. 

The main house-servant, at this time, was Ann Eliza, 
whom with her husband, Edward, Mr. McKiernan had 
bought several years before in Mississippi. She knew 
how to read well, understood all the branches of good 
housewifery, and was withal possessed of excellent 
sense and real piety. Yet, although her services in 
the house were invaluable, and her conduct was above 
reproach, her mistress hated her. She was too hand- 
some, and had "such a tongue!" 

Ann Eliza was not impudent or bold ; but when 
her mistress violently upbraided her, and accused her 
falsely, she threw back her head, and fixed her large, 
clear eyes upon her face, while with a steady voice she 
declared her innocence. This dignified defence the 
passionate lady could only answer with the cowhide, 
and she frequently exhausted her own strength in 
fruitless efforts to subdue the spirit of her slave. 

Once, during the year that Peter spent there, the 
mistress, as a punishment for some offence, sent Ann 
Eliza to the gin-house, to assist in moving a quan- 
tity of cotton. After she had gone, a messenger was 
despatched for a man named Anderson, who was in 
the habit of attending to any necessary business on the 
place during the master's absence. 

"Look here, Mr. Anderson," said the lady, when 
that personage presented himself before her. " I want 



peter's year at m°kiernan's. 179 

you to go to the gin-house, and get Ann Eliza, aud 
give her one good whipping. I have whipped her 
myself till I am tired, but it does no good. She needs 
bringing down, for she is the torment of my life. Lay 
it on well ; you needn't be afraid. It is a good time 
now, as Mr. McKiernan is away from home. He is 
mighty careful of the pretty girl, himself, and that is 
what makes her so impudent." 

"Yes, ma'am," replied Anderson, "I'll give her a 
lesson she'll remember;" and he departed to the gin- 
house. 

Ann Eliza saw him coming, and she knew her 
doom. She cast one imploring look at her husband, 
who was working at her side. Edward returned it 
with a glance so full of terror, pity, and an intense 
longing to avenge her wrongs, that all her powers 
were roused, and she felt strong to endure the worst. 

She stood calmly by her husband's side, while, with 
his rope, the ruffian bound her hands ; and then, at 
his command, she followed him towards the house, 
leaving poor Edward gazing after her in silent terror. 
One moment a flash of vengeance gleamed from his 
dark eyes ; and then he realized his utter helplessness, 
and his head drooped low, while great tears fell upon 
the heap of cotton. 

Peter stood in the shelter of one of the out-buildings, 
and watched Anderson as he led his victim to the 
orchard. There he " staked her out" upon the ground, 
and, with a zest unknown to uncultivated natures, he 
applied the cowhide to her naked back and limbs. 
Her screams of agony only excited his demoniac mirth. 
" That's right," he cried, "Hike to hear you shout; 



180 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

that's the way ye all shout at the camp-ground. 
Shout away ! you're gittin' happy now." 

He beat her there, mocking the while her cries of 
pain, till she became too much exhausted to utter ano- 
ther sound ; and then, untying her, he delivered her 
to her mistress. " Thar, ma'am," said he, " she ain't 
got use for no more this time. She's got the devil in 
her, but I reckon he'll keep still till she gits over this 
ere." 

Much religious excitement existed at this time 
among the slaves in the neighborhood, and particu- 
larly upon the plantation of Mr. McKiernan. An old 
Baptist preacher, named Archie Eggleston, had been 
hired here the preceding year ; and he had zealously 
preached to his brethren in bonds the love and com- 
passion of Jesus ; and had sought, in his simple way, 
to encourage them to hope for a home among " the 
spirits bright." His language, it is true, was full of 
the quaint idioms of his race ; but it spoke to the hearts 
of his unlearned auditory; for the little which he 
could tell them of the blessed Saviour was just what 
they loved to hear. They "received the word with 
gladness," and, with its warm and cheering rays, it 
illumined their darkness, and strewed the thorny path 
they trod, not with the roses of content, but with the 
trembling violets of hope. 

Sweet, when their daily toil was done, was the hour 
which, borrowed from their needed rest, they spent 
alone in prayer ; and, as the breath of their humble 
souls ascended on the soft air of evening, their trusting 
hearts were filled with heavenly consolations. 



peter's year at m c kiernan's. 181 

But even these few precious moments were not un- 
disturbed, if the overseer or young Master Charles 
discovered their retreat. " Ye all needn't pretend to 
be praying, when you're just hiding around to get a 
chance to steal ; take that — and learn to stay at home 
of nights I" 






CHAPTER XXIV. 
B U R T O N S R E I G N 

The overseer on Mr. McKiernan's place was usually 
a representative of the lowest order of his profession. 
The master could tolerate no other, and those of the 
better class would not remain in his employ. If, by 
chance, he hired one of a higher grade than the brutish 
fellows to whom his business was wont to be intrusted, 
his stay was short. 

" Why don't you put on some decent clothes ?" said 
such a one to a half-naked negro, soon after he entered 
upon his duties in the field. 

" Ain't got none but dese yer, sir." 

"Where's the clothes your master gave you this 
fall?" 

" He ain't never give us no clothes, sir, in more'n a 
year." 

" Humph ! I'll not have anything to do with his 
lousy niggers ; I shall get lousy myself." 

" Mr. McKiernan, I can't do business for you ; your 
niggers are too filthy and ragged ; I can't oversee such 
a gang." 

"Well, I'm going to get them new clothes soon; 
I've been intending to get some this long time, but it 
has been neglected." 

[182] 



burton's reigx. 183 

Nothing more was heard of them, however, and the 
scrupulous overseer found another situation, leaving 
his place to be filled by one whose tastes accorded bet- 
ter with those of the old master. 

One of this latter class was employed upon the place 
a few years after Peter's sojourn there, who had so 
keen a relish for the varieties of his profession that a 
few instances of his reign should be related here. 

His name was Burton. He was a tall, dark man 
with grey hair, and shaggy eye-brows, as fierce and 
disagreeable in countenance as he was cruel and hard 
of heart. 

He came on Saturday, and commenced business on 
Sunday morning by summoning all the hands to listen 
to his rules. 

" D'ye all hear? Every man of you must get your 
axe and saw, and go to the woods, and chop and saw 
logs for boards. And you girls, get your mattocks 
and handspikes, and go on the new ground and grub ; 
and, d'ye hear? mend every log-heap, and every 
brush heap there. And mind ; the same's to be the 
law for every Sunday morning. Ye all are to work 
till noon, and after that you may go the devil." 

The sable company gazed at each other in blank 
amazement. They had been " pushed" when they had 
been allowed to wash and mend, and work their patches 
on the holy day, but now 

The silence was interrupted by one of their number, 
named Lewis, a very black man with a round face and 
heavy figure, who stepped forward, and said, as he 

looked the new overseer firmly in the face, "Well, 

Sir, de res' cun do as dey likes, but dis chile aint gwine 
to do it." 



184 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

"You tell me," cried Burton, "that you're not going 

to do it?" 

" Yes, Sir, I tell you I wont do it. I aint gwine to 
work a Sunday for no man." 

'-'Very well — v-e-r-y w-e-1-1." The enraged over- 
seer turned his fiery eyes upon the other slaves, and saw 
that they obeyed his orders. "With rolling eyes and 
pouting lips they all went in their dirty clothes to work. 

Till noon they labored; none dared a moment to lag; 
for the monster with his heavy whip was near. At twelve 
they returned tired and angry to the quarter. They 
were unwashed, their cabins were untidy, but they had 
no heart to move ; and there they sat in sullen silence. 

Presently the overseer summoned five or six of the 
strongest men to go and help him " take that gentle- 
man that would' nt work on Sunday." 

They dared not disobey. Burton took a rope, and, 
attended by these unwilling aids, entered the cabin of 
Lewis. He did not look up as they went in, but sat 
with his head inclined, and with a look of fierce de- 
cision on his face. They approached to bind him. 
Instantly he sprang to his feet, and fought like a tiger. 

For half an hour the uproar in the house continued; 
and then they brought poor Lewis out, wound up in 

ropes. 

The cabins were built in a hollow square, one side 
of which was formed by the overseer's house and gar- 
den. Into the centre of this square Burton led his 
victim, and there in sight of all the slaves, he stripped 
him entirely naked, and then whipped him till the blood 
streamed from his back. Then commanding, as before, 
other negroes to his aid, he led him to the smoke-house, 
and put him in the stocks. 



burton's reign. 185 

These consisted of two heavy timbers, with mortice 
hole cut in each, through which they thrust the hands 
and feet of the offender, securing them by heavy iron 
bolts at each end of the timbers. 

Thus the pitying slaves confined their mangled bro- 
ther. Alas ! they had no power to aid him, and they 
dared not refuse to obey the orders of the overseer, 
though every appealing look of their suffering com- 
panion was a dagger to their hearts. 

After supper that night, a light was seen gleaming 
through the small apertures in the smoke-house wall ; 
and some of the slaves peeped in. Burton sat com- 
posedly in a chair which was kept there for the con- 
venience of overseers on like occasions, and as his 
cowhide, with a sharp twang fell on his prostrate vic- 
tim, they heard his muttered curses mingle with the 
sufferer's groans. " Well," whispered one of these 
curious listeners, "I gives it up. Der aint no use 
talkin' 'bout de Lord's orderin' all things ; kase its plain 
to my comperhendin' dat nobody sent dat dar ole feller 
yer but the devil himself. De Lord knowed we done 
seen hard times enough on dis yer place ; we didn't 
need no more o' dat sort." 

The next day at noon, Burton let the offender out, 
and ordered him to go to work. 

"I aint able to work," growled Lewis. 

"But you shall work," rejoined the overseer," or I'll 
give you more of the same sort." 

Notwithstanding this threat, Lewis went to his cabin, 
and there day after day he sat brooding over his in- 
juries. 

" How long are you going to sit there, you d — d 
Bulky nigger?" cried Burton at the cabin door. 



186 TIIE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

"I's gwine stay yer till I gits well, and den I's 
gwine to de woods." 

Lewis kept his word. A day or two after this, he 
rose in the morning at the sound of the horn, and 
went out. Soon after Burton appeared at the door. 
" Where's Lewis?" demanded he, of Lucy, his wife? 
who was preparing to go to her work. 

"I don' know, sir, I reckon he's some're 'bout de 
yard." 

The day wore on, but no Lewis appeared. " I tell 
you, my lady," said Burton to Lucy, "I'll fetch the 
truth out of you." So saying, he seized her, and tying 
her arms around a stump, whipped her cruelly. But 
thus he gained no knowledge of her husband ; for she 
still protested that she supposed he had only gone into 
the yard. 

Week after week passed on, and yet no tidings came 
of Lewis ; but he was not alone, for soon a man named 
Frank, and " old man John," were driven by Burton's ■ 
cruelty to join him in his " den." 

Yet the cowhide of the overseer had no rest ; for so 
dearly did he love its music, that a day seldom passed 
on which he could find no occasion for its use. 

Young Peter was one day suffering from a severe 
toothache, and he quit his work, and sought his mo- 
ther's cabin. It was a busy time, for they were to 
kill hogs the next dav. 

He had been in the house but a short time, when 
Burton came to the door and bade him go and help to 
make the necessary preparations for the morrow. "I 
can't work, sir," said he, "my tooth aches too bad." 

" Well," said the overseer, "come along to my house, 
d — n you, and I'll cure it, or knock it out — one." 



burton's reign. 187 

"If that be the case, sir," said Peter, "I wont go; 
for I aint gwine have my teeth knocked ont like I was 
a horse or a hog." 

"So you tell me you wont, young man — v-e-r-y 
w-e-1-1." 

The next morning, Peter, having been kept awake 
nearly all night by his tooth, did not go out till sunrise, 
though he was called soon after midnight. Meantime, 
the master visited the scene of slaughter. 

"Master Peter is laid up with the tooth-ache," said 
Burton to his employer, " and I told him yesterday if 
he would come to my house, I would give him some- 
thing to ease it ; but the young gentleman told me he 
would not." 

Vina stood near, and as she had heard the conver- 
sation the day before, she determined, if possible, to 
shield her son from the impending storm. She had 
always been a most useful servant ; and since the time 
when the overseer Simms had so nearly murdered her, 
the master had not suffered her to be beaten. So with 
a consciousness of her own high standing in his esteem, 
she boldly repeated, in his presence, the precise lan- 
guage Avhich the overseer had used to Peter. 

" You told him," said she, " to come to your house, 
and you'd cure it or knock it out ; and he said, if that 
was the case, he wasn't gwine come, kase he didn't 
want his teeth knocked out like he was a horse." 

Burton gave her an angry scowl. " Was I talking 
to you?" said he. 

" ]STo, sir, but you's try in' to git Peter whipped, just 
for nuthin ?" 

" Hush your mouth !" cried her master. 



188 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

"I told the truth, sir," said she, nothing daunted, 
and looking him earnestly in the face. 

After awhile, Peter came out. "What's that im- 
pudence you were giving to Mr. Burton last night, 
telling him you wouldn't?" said the master. 
The young man repeated the conversation. 
"Well," said Mr. McKiernan, turning to the over- 
seer, "you can tie him up to that apple tree." 

Burton needed nothing further. He quickly tied ' 
Peter to the tree, and gave him a hundred lashes, after 
which he ordered him to go to work. 

This scene was highly amusing to the master, who 
often told the story with great glee ; swearing that the 
best cure he ever knew for a nigger's tooth-ache was to 
tie him up to a tree, and "give him the devil." 

For three months no trace was found of the three 
runaways, though many days were spent in hunting 
them, and no means were left untried to induce their 
fellow-slaves to betray them to their foes. Their wives, 
from the time of their flight, received weekly but half 
their usual allowance of meat, that they might have 
no surplus " to feed the rascals." " Go out and hunt 
them," said Burton, when they complained of the scanty 
fare, "and when you bring them in, your allowance 
shall be made up to you." 

The master at last despaired of taking them by 
ordinary means, and he resolved to try a desperate 
measure; one that should frighten all the others who 
might thereafter be tempted to try the woods. 

About half way to Courtland lived a negro-hunter, 
named Elliott, and Mr. McKiernan now sent for him 
to come and catch his runaways. Elliott promptly 



burton's reign. 189 

obeyed the summons ; bringing with him his trained 
dogs — seven hounds and a bull-dog. 

He arrived just before supper, and early the next 
morning the hunt was to commence. That night Frank 
came to the quarter. His friends informed him that 
the dogs had come, and bade him haste to flee beyond 
their reach. But he was very swift of foot, and he felt 
sure he could outrun them. He however, hastened 
back to the "den" which the three occupied together, 
and told the news to his companions, Lewis, and "old 
man John." 

Lewis lost no time in fleeing beyond their scent. 
The dawn of the next morning found him in the 
woods near La Grange, distant from their rendezvous 
about seven miles. 

Early in the morning the party, composed of Mr. 
McKiernan, Elliott, and a slave named Yollen, started 
on the hunt. They were mounted on the swiftest 
horses the place could boast, and the dogs with their 
noses to the earth, silently followed them. 

They passed the gang of slaves just going out to 
work, and from many a heart the fervent prayer went 
up to Heaven that they might miss their prey. 

Late in the afternoon the baying of the dogs was 
heard. "Thar," said Vina to the woman who was 
plowing next her, " I'll lay anything they's started one 
o' the poor fellers." 

The horrid sounds came nearer — the hunters 1 yells 
mingled with the dogs' loud baying ; and as all eyes 
were turned in the direction of the woods, a man 
bounded over the high fence, and ran with desperate 
speed into the midst of the excited slaves. The fright- 



190 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

ened mules set up their ears, and ran furiously through 
the field, dragging the plows behind them over the 
young corn. 

"Hold on! Hold on!" cried the master, who rode 
close behind poor Frank ; " don't let 'em run !" 

But few tried to obey, and those few were dragged 
at full length along the ground, adding by their shouts 
and cries, to the confusion of the scene. 

" Take off de dogs! call 'em off! dey's killin' me !" 
cried Frank. 

" Let 'em go !" shouted his master ; " who cares if 
they do kill him ! He's made me more expense and 
trouble than his neck's worth." 

The bull-dog, with the ferocity of his race, kept 
close to the poor fellow's legs, and tore great pieces of 
flesh out of them as he ran. At last Frank seized a 
stick that lay across his path, and attempted to beat 
him off. Up rode Elliott. " You d — d rascal ! how 
dare you strike my dog ?" So saying, he gave him 
several blows over the head and neck, that sent the 
blood gushing out. 

"Mercy! Mercy!" cried the slave, "you're killin' 
me!" 

" I mean to kill you, you black cuss." 
"When they called off the dogs, and started for the 
house, poor Frank, faint with fatigue and loss of blood, 
could walk no further ; so the master commanded one 
of the men to take his mule out of the plow and carry 
him to the house. 

They lifted him, all covered with blood, upon the 
mule, and when they reached the quarter Mr. McKier- 
nan delivered Him to the overseer. " Here, Burton, is 



burton's reign. 191 

one of your runaways— Elliott says he'll bring in the 
other two to-morrow, if they're any where this side of 
h— 11." 

Burton ordered the slaves to go on with him to the 
smoke-house, and put him in the stocks. 

The next day the overseer went in to "take his 
satisfaction." He first fastened the hands of his victim 
in their mortise ; and then, sitting down, whipped him 
till his demoniac rage was "satisfied." 

For several days thereafter, Frank was left in the 
stocks. His wounds inflamed, his bruises festered, and 
at last he told the overseer, who daily paid him a visit, 
that if he did not have his legs dressed where the dogs 
had bitten him, he should die, "sho 'nough." Burton 
made no reply, but the next day he took him out of 
the stocks, and let him go. 

For two months he remained in his cabin ; and 
though his wife had dressed his wounds with the great- 
est care, five of them were still unhealed. Then the 
order came for him to go to work ; and though he was 
still very weak, he dared not refuse obedience. " He 
had lost a heap 6 1 time, but niass'r ''lowed his example 
would sheer the others, soH they'd keep out o' the woods" 

Burton swore, when he released him, that he should 
work every Sunday in the year to make up lost time ; 
and for five Sundays, he kept him all day in the field, 
visiting him occasionally, to see that he was not idle. 
After that, however, he was released at noon with his 
companions. 

The next day after Frank was taken, " old man 
John" was brought in. He was not torn by the dogs, 
for on their approach he climbed a tree, where he re- 



192 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

mained till Elliott called them off. No trace of Lewis 
was discovered, and the hunter, with his dogs, went 
home. 

About a fortnight after this, at midnight, Lewis 
came to Vollen's house. This was a cabin, near the 
kitchen ; Yollen's wife being one of the house servants. 

" Is you come in to stay?" said Vollen. 

" Don' know ; think I better?" 

" Yes, I reckon you m ought as well, for de dogs 
done tore Frank a'most to pieces." 

" What you reckon dey'll do if I comes back?" 

" Don' know ; best ax ole mass'r — I'll go tell him 
you done come in." 

Soon the master came to the door. " Well, Lewis," 
said he, "you had your race? Come back to stay, 
eh?"* 

11 1 don' know, sir, I'll stay ef I can be left alone, 
and not git whipped to death." 

H Well, you go to the kitchen and wait till morn- 
ing." 

The slave obeyed, though with many misgivings. 
Something within urged him to flee ; but then he 
could not believe his master would allow him to be 
beaten more. It surely would not be for his interest 
to render him unfit for labor at a season when all the 
the forces he could summon were needed in the field. 

The master rose at dawn ; and sent a note to Burton, 
saying that Lewis had come in, and desiring him to 
come up "soon." 

Promptly, with rope in hand, the overseer presented 
himself at the kitchen door. Lewis threw at him a 
glance of angry defiance. % " No !" cried he, as Burton 



burton's reign. 193 

attempted to tie him, " my mass'r 's yer ; — lie cun kill 
me if lie will ; but you shan't tie me, nor whip me — 
nary one. You's done enough o' dat dar." 

" Cross your hands !" shouted Mr. McKiernan. 

" Very well;" responded the slave, "If mass'r says 
so, you cun do it ; but if he was n't her, I'd die fus." 

"Lewis," said his master, " I want Mr. Burton to 
make me a crop ; and how can he do it, if you all are 
off to the woods ?" 

" I'se willm', sir, to help make you a crap," replied 
the slave, " but when you gits such a mean oversee', 
whar whips all de time, I can't stand it." 

" Burton," said the master, " you take your satisfac- 
tion out of him, and then give him an extra fifty for 
me, to make him tell who fed him when he was 
out," 

With a grim smile upon his repulsive face, the over- 
seer led Lewis to the smoke-house, and put him in the 
stocks ; then, leaving him there to meditate upon the 
manifold benefits ensuing to his poor heathen race 
from being allowed to dwell in a Christian country, he 
went out to see that all his other subjects had com- 
menced their daily toil in accordance with the orders 
he had given them. 

After dinner, he went in to chastise his victim. He 
fastened his wrists in their appropriate mortise, and 
then, lighting his pipe, sat down to his delightful 
task. 

Burton was in his element. He wasted not his 
strength by violent exercise or undue excitement, for 
his long arms swayed leisurely in unison with his 
pleasant thoughts. He had plenty of time to " take his 
satisfaction," and at every cut of the cowhide that 
9 



194 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

forced an extraordinary groan from the prostrate 
wretch before him, a gleam of fiendish exultation 
flitted across his savage face ; and through his closed 
teeth he hissed : " Ah ! that's a good one ; it takes me 
to break a nigger in." 

When he had given him enough for once, he called 
two of the boys, and ordered them to make "a bucket 
of strong pickle." and carry it to his house. " My 
wife," said he, " will put in some spirits of turpentine, 
and then it will do to rub down this gentleman." 

They soon brought the brine, prepared according to 
his directions ; and then, by his command, they 
washed poor Lewis from head to foot. Oh ! how he 
shrieked and writhed as the stinging fluid penetrated 
every bleeding gash the cruel whip had made ! Then, 
after giving' him a few more cuts, as he said, " to beat 
the medicine in/' Burton loosened his wrists, and, 
leaving his feet still in the stocks, went out and locked 
the door. 

For four days, the slave remained fast in the stocks ; 
his loneliness unbroken, save by a daily visit from the 
overseer, who came in " just to give him a few cuts to 
wake him up." By this time his wounds were much 
inflamed, and he begged to be allowed to go to his 
cabin and put on clean clothes. 

Burton granted this request ; but placed him in 
charge of two other slaves, who were informed that if 
they did not bring him back when he had changed his 
clothes, they should take " the same bounty." 

They led him to his cabin, and his wife called in 
several of the other women to see his back. Vina 
was one of these. She says: "When I went in the 
door, Lucy was a wettin' his shirt with warm water to 



burton's reign. 195 



loosen it from his back ; and his two children, Charles 
and 'Muthis, was a cry in' like their hearts was done 
broke. Lucy soak the shirt a long time, till she think 
it done got loose ; but a heap o' times, when she tried 
to pull it up, it fotch up welts o' flesh about the size o' 
my ringer 'long with it. Then the blood trinlde down 
his back, and 'peared like, he'd faint, constant. She 
wash his back till it done stop bleedin', and then she 
kivered it all over with tallered plasters. Then, when 
he got his clean clothes on, the men whar fotch him 
from the smoke-house, they carried him back. Lucy 
and her children stood in the door, and watched him 
till he done got out o' sight ; and 'peard like, they all 
w r ould sob theirselves to death." 

This was Sunday. Early the next morning Lewis 
was taken out of his prison, and led by two men to 
the blacksmith's shop, to receive " the runaway's 
irons." An iron ring, weighing fourteen pounds, was 
welded on his ankle ; and to that was fastened one end 
of a heavy log-chain, the other end of which was 
brought up and passed twice around his waist, where 
it was secured by a lock. A collar was then put 
around his neck, from which an iron horn extended 
on each side nearly to the point of the shoulder. 

He was then sent to the field, and forced to work, 
though he could hardly drag himself along. Through 
all the long hot summer days those heavy irons galled, 
his neck and ankle, and even on the Sabbath he had 
no rest. "Sometimes," says Vina, " 'peared like he 
would run crazy. But he never got no pity from 
them whar was the cause of all the trouble. They 
only laughed at his misery, makin' out like thar's 
nuthin' bad enough for runaways." 



196 . THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

One wet morning in the summer, Burton told 
Abram, a blacksmith, who was then headman of the 
hoe hands, to go to one of the hills to scrape cotton, as 
the bottom was too wet. Abram accordingly led his 
hands to the hill which he supposed Burton meant, 
and they all fell earnestly at work. Soon they saw 
the overseer coming with his grey horse at full gallop. 
"Why in h — 1 did n't you go where I told you?" 
shouted he to Abram. 

" I thought this yer de place, Sir." 

" You thought ! You're not to think ; you're to 
do." 

Abram attempted to explain, but Burton grew furi- 
ous ; and at last he drew forth his pistol and shot the 
slave through the leg — thus crippling him for many 
months. 

The master " cursed and blustered a heap" about this, 
but he was so sure that such a tight fellow must be a 
first rate overseer, that he could not think of turning 
him away. 

Yet even he at length grew weary of the sight of 
his ragged, filthy people. " I say, Burton," said he 
one day, as he rode through the field, "how the devil 
can you work such a miserable gang of niggers? 
"Why don't you make them wash and mend their 
clothes ? 

"D — n'em; I don't care how they look ;" replied 
the overseer. " If they only work, I don't care if the 
lice eat 'em alive." 

" Well, I do ; and by Gr — d, they look too bad. I 
say, if they don't wash and mend their clothes, you 
give them the devil." 

Yina stood near and listened with indignation to 



bukton's reign. 197 

this order. "When we gwine wash?" cried she. 
" We got to work every day, Sundays and all ; we 
ain't got no time to wasli nor mend." 

" What are you all doing nights, d — n you ?" 

" We's a workin' for you, sir, all the time, day and 
night ; and drove and whipped till we's half dead, any 
how." 

He turned away. " Burton," said he, " you might 
as well give the women two hours by sun of a Saturday 
to wash, for by G — d, they're too d — d filthy." 

The next Saturday, just as the sun was going behind 
the trees, Burton dismissed the women to go home and 
wash. But they would not please him by accepting 
that for " two hours by sun," and so on Monday morn- 
ing they went out in the same tattered frocks — the 
rags sailing in the wind. They had every week washed 
their under garments by night — but this they kept a 
secret. They were determined to look as badly as they 
could, until their master should give them at least their 
Sundays to work for themselves. 

The effect of Burton's constant whipping and crip 
pling the hands was manifest in the fields. So many 
of the people were driven to the woods, or otherwise 
unfitted for their usual labors, that the corn was 
choked, and the cotton could scarcely be seen amid the 
tall, rank grass. 

This unpromising state of his darling crop at length 
opened the master's eyes. He rode through the field one 
day when Burton was not there. " What the devil ails 
you all ?" said he ; "I never was in the grass like this." 
" No wonder," replied one of the boldest men, 
" reckon you'll never git out de grass long 's you keeps 
ole Burton yer. He knows nuthin 'bout farmin,' no 



198 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

how ; lie des beats your people, and cuts 'em up con- 
stant; dat dar's all lie know. Dem whar's able to 
work at all can't do past half a day's work, kase dey's 
all so bruised and cut up." 

" 'Pears like," says Yina, "this teched his heart. He's 
mons's 'shamed o' bein' in the grass so much wuss 'an 
all his neighbors." 

Soon after the angry old man cursed the overseer, 
and ordered him off the place, and though Burton 
swore he would not go till he was ready, yet after a 
few weeks he departed. 

For the discharge of this inhuman monster the 
master received no thanks. His servants knew he 
cared not for their sufferings, but only for the grass 
which waved so boldly in his fields of corn and cotton. 
To use the words of Vina, " when it come to that, they 
didn't try to git him out o' the grass. He done kep' 
that mean ole Burton thar all the forepart of the year, 
and let him cut 'em up 'cordin' to his own mercy, and 
now they wasn't gwine try to make a crap. So that 
year we didn't make corn enough to last till June. "We 
had to go half fed, and the mules got so poor they'd 
fall down in the plough. They didn't git nuthin' but 
fodder, for it come mons's hard to have to buy corn." 

The next overseer was the reverse of Burton. " The 
people all liked him mightily, and he made an elegant 
crap without any fuss." The stocks were empty, the 
runaway's irons laid by to rust, and the cowhide was 
almost wholly idle. But this did not suit the master : 
and before the year closed he was discharged. Mr. 
McKiernan declared that his niggers were "all free, and 
going about kicking up their heels ;" he must get some- 
body that would be ' ' tight" " Niggers must he kept down" 



CHAPTER XXV. 
FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 

At the beginning of the year 1842, Peter was hired 
to Mr. James A. Stoddard, at that time teacher of the 
boys' school in Tuscumbia. He was a New England 
man, an elder in the Presbyterian church, and an ex- 
ception to the often-quoted rule, that " persons who 
have been raised in the free States make the worst 
masters." 

The peaceful home of Mr. Stoddard, with the light 
labor which devolved upon him, formed a pleasant con- 
trast to the plantation where he had spent the preced- 
ing year. He was now well-fed ; and was furnished 
during the year with four suits of clothes, which was 
one more than he had been accustomed to receive. 
These suits consisted each of a coarse cotton shirt, with 
roundabouts and trousers of blue jean. They were 
not rich, nor costly, it is true, but they were always 

clean. 

During this year, he went regularly once in two 
weeks to see his family, and on these occasions he was 
often able to carry them some little comforts. These 
he earned by performing little services for others at 
times when Mr. Stoddard had nothing for him to do. 
Sometimes he went on foot to the plantation, twelve 
miles distant, but often some kind gentleman lent him 

D99] 



200 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

a horse ; and then with the little package of coffee and 
sugar, or perhaps with a comfortable jacket for one of 
his beloved sons, he rode along with a hopeful heart. 

Eagerly did his three boys, with their little sister, 
watch for their father's coming ; and when they heard 
his approaching footsteps, although the night was dark, 
they bounded forth to meet him with shouts of joy. 
Ah ! they knew he brought the sunshine in his heart. 

In October of this -year, Miss Sarah Gist, the second 
daughter of his deceased master, was married to young 
John H. Hogun, a son of her mother's husband. The 
eldest daughter, Mary, had died about two years after 
the second marriage of her mother. 

A division of the property was now made. The 
slaves numbered thirty-four, but to one old man, 
Uncle Pompey, the guardians of the estate granted his 
liberty. The remaining thirty-three were examined 
and appraised by a committee of five men ; and then, 
after being divided into three lots, they were drawn by 
the agents of the three heirs. 

The lot in which Peter was placed was drawn by 
Miss Sarah's agent ; and the guardianship of his affairs 
was consequently transferred to her father-in-law. He 
took charge of the property of his children until they 
should become of age, the young bridegroom at his 
marriage being but eighteen years old, while the bride 
was only sixteen. 

Uncle Pompey, who was kindly set free on this 
occasion was about eighty years old. His wife was 
the property of Eev. Mr. L. of Leighton. The poor 
old man was not wanted there, and for some time he 
wandered to and fro, a prey to the cruelty of patrols 
and other ruffians who abounded in that region. By 



FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 201 

these he was persecuted and beaten till Miss Sarah, 
pitying his sufferings, took him home and cared for 
him during the remainder of his life. 

Great was the consternation among the slaves that 
were drawn by Miss Sarah and her young husband, 
when they learned that the elder Hogun was, at least 
for a time, to be their master. They knew his charac- 
ter, and feared that he might take them home to work 
on the plantation. He, however, allowed them to 
remain where they were during the year, and at 
Christmas time, he hired them out again. 

Mr. Stoddard was, throughout the year, a kind friend 
to Peter; and at its close, he recommended him so 
warmly to his pastor, the Rev. Mr. Stedman, that he 
hired him for the ensuing year of Mr. Hogun. Mr. 
Stoddard soon after quitted teaching, and re-opened 
his store in Tuscumbia. where he still remains — a 
highly respected merchant, and one of the best citi- 
zens in town. 

To Mr. and Mrs. Stedman, Peter soon became ar- 
dently attached. In all their dealings with him they 
respected his humanity; and no effort on their part 
was spared that could promote his happiness. 

His duties were various, and required all his time ; 
but he performed them cheerfully, for his heart was in 
his work. He took the whole care of the Church- 
kept it clean, rang the bell, and built fires when they 
were needed. Then he hauled all the wood for the 
family, and prepared it for the fire; " hauled water" 
from the spring for two families besides his own; and 
performed also the duties of waiter and errand boy. 
If the cook chanced to be sick a day or two, he took 
her place, and filled it with ability — in short, he 
9* 



202 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

spared no effort that could conduce to the comfort of 
those who showed by their steady kindness, that they 
regarded him as a man. 

Morning and evening, when they knelt at the family 
altar, the servants were called in, and as the man of 
God poured forth his petitions to the Great Father, the 
heart of the lowly slave was lifted upward, and from 
the loving household band a pure offering of thanks- 
giving ascended to the throne of the Invisible. 

Mrs. Stedman was a native of New England, and 
from her conversation and manners, Peter received his 
first impressions of life in "the North." Oh! how 
ardently he wished that he might one day behold that 
wondrous land where all are free ! 

The Christmas Holidays arrived, but Peter instead 
of going, as was the usual custom, to spend them with 
his fellow-servants at his mistress' home, remained in 
town with his good friend, Mrs. Stedman. She had 
need of his services until the end of the year, and 
though his time for that week was his own, he had no 
wish to leave her. 

His failure to come out with his fellow-servants, Mr. 
Hogun construed into a sign of increasing indepen- 
dence of his master's family. Such an offence must 
needs be punished. He therefore hired him for the 
next year to Mr. John Pollock, a merchant of Tus- 
cumbia. He knew this would be distasteful to Peter, 
because he would naturally choose to remain in the 
service of the kind Pastor ; but when the slave ven- 
tured to express this preference, he received only 
curses, and an assurance that he " asked no odds of a 
nigger." "You've got mighty independent all at 
once;" said he, "couldn't come out Christmas to tell 



FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 203 

me where you wanted to live ; so now you shall go 
where I say, d — n you." 

On New Year's Day, 1844, Peter went to Mr. Pol- 
lock's. Here, too, he was kindly treated, and his labor 
was not severe. He filled vacancies among the house 
servants, worked in the garden, and was drayman for 
the store, where he slept whenever the clerk chanced 
to be absent. He was diligent and faithful ; and his 
employer ever after spoke in his praise. 

In August of this year, Mr. Pollock, at Peter's re- 
quest, hired him out to go as cook with a company of 
gentlemen to the Whig Mass Convention at Nashville. 

The party numbered sixty-three; and they were 
well supplied with tents, provisions, and various con- 
veniences for camping out on the road. They had 
quantities of bread and bacon, with a store of meal for 
the indispensable hot corn cake. 

At about nine o'clock on the morning of the fifteenth 
day of August, the procession passed gaily through 
the town. At the doors and windows, bright eyes 
were beaming, and fair hands waved hopeful adieus to 
husbands, sons, and lovers ; and though the day was 
intensely hot, the merry band responded in high 
spirits. 

Many of the gentlemen rode their own horses, while 
others went in the wagons ; and conversation, mirth, 
and song, enlivened all the hours. They stopped occa- 
sionally to rest their horses, and to enjoy for a little 
while the delicious shade at the bright springs which 
sparkle here and there in the pleasant Valley of the 
Tennessee. 
Just before sunset, they reached Blue Water, a quiet 



204 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

little stream, that flows between banks of softest green 
into the lovely river. Here they encamped for the 
night. The gentlemen proceeded to put up the tents, 
while the servants built a fire, and prepared the sup- 
per. The cooking devolved on Peter, and a man be- 
longing to Mr. W , of Florence ; and while they 

vied with each other in displaying their knowledge of 
the elegancies of their art, the two remaining servants 
were sent to the neighboring Whig farmers to bring 
straw for the floors of the tents. 

Forked sticks were then driven into the ground to 
support two or three long planks which had been 
brought in one of the wagons. These formed their 
table, on which were set the bread and bacon, and the 
hot coffee which had been prepared in a great kettle 
over the fire. 

Each of the party was supplied with a little tin plate, 
which he filled himself, and with this he seated him- 
self on a stump or on the soft green turf. Here he 
enjoyed his simple supper with a relish unknown to 
those who pine for appetite beside the heavy-laden 
board of luxury. 

After supper, wine, cards and merry conversation 
filled the hours, till as sleep began to steal over their 
senses, they sought their tents, where on the clean 
straw were spread their mattresses and blankets, in- 
viting them to gentle slumbers. 

The early morning found them all astir. Hot coffee 
steamed on the rude table, and a hearty breakfast was 
soon dispatched. Then the tents were struck, and, 
with the blankets and cooking utensils, the slaves re- 
placed them in the wagons. The horses, which after 
being well fed, had been hitched to the trees at night, 



FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 205 

were soon prepared for motion, and, with a loud 
" Hurrah I" the party commenced their second day's 
journey. 

At every town through which they passed, they 
were greeted with welcoming shouts. Ladies waved 
their hands as they passed by, and little children raised 
their tiny flags, and cried, " Hurrah for Clay I" 

They reached Nashville on the eighteenth, at noon. 
The Convention was already in session ; and the white 
tents of other visitors dotted the green fields and 
groves in the suburbs, while in the wood southeast of 
the city, were set long tables for the entertainment of 
the guests from abroad. These tables were abundantly 
furnished by the Whigs of the city with substantial 
viands, suited to the taste of all. Bands of music en- 
livened the groves, and it seemed a universal gala day. 

Stands for speakers were erected at various places in 
the city; and wordy politicians talked themselves 
hoarse on the beauties of high tariffs, and the disastrous 
consequences that would follow the election of Mr. 
Polk. Banners with full-length portraits of the great 
Kentucky statesman were borne in front of processions 
through the streets — though Mr. Clay himself sat in 
his quiet home. 

The Tuscumbia delegation pitched their tents on a 
hill near the city, and at once entered heartily into the 
excitement. Their four servants also, keenly enjoyed 
these lively times, which formed a variation in their 
monotonous existence; and to this day the stirring 
scenes and noisy crowds of the great Convention form 
the basis of many a tale, which beguiles the dreary 
hours of toil. 

They spent a week in the city ; though the Conven- 



206 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

tion adjourned three days after their arrival. The re- 
maining time was spent by the gentlemen in visiting 
friends, or in such other amusements as were suited to 
their various tastes and habits. 

Peter had hoped that, during his stay at Nashville, 
he might find some chance to escape from slavery ; 
and it was with this purpose in his heart, that he asked 
leave to go. He had brought with him his little stock 
of money — only fifteen dollars, it is true, but it seemed 
to him a large sum, and he was sure it would do him 
" a heap of good" if he were free. Thoughts of leav- 
ing his dear wife and children made him very sad ; 
but the idea of freedom was mighty ; and he resolved 
to try. 

He walked in the evening down to the river, but on 
no boat could he espy a corner where he might hide 
and sail away to the far land of the free. He could 
not be long absent from the camp without being missed 
by some of his many masters ; and when the week had 
passed away, and the company were about to return, 
he had been able to discover no avenue of escape. So 
he aided in the preparations for the homeward journey ; 
and smothered in his heart those wild longings for 
liberty that had so long been struggling there for 
breath. 

The gentlemen all noticed with approval his active 
industry, and enjoyed the comforts which they owed 
to his quick perceptions of order and fitness in the ar- 
rangement of their few conveniences ; yet not one of 
them guessed what a brave, true heart he bore ; or 
how that heart, like a caged bird, was even then beat- 
ing and struggling to be free. Their return home was 
gayer even than their outward journey. Jests and 



FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. 207 

merriment abounded. Amusing experiences during 
their sojourn in the city were reviewed; and none 
noticed or cared that the servant was less happy than 
his masters. 

Arrived once more at home, Peter moved on in the 
old channels. His failure to escape from thraldom 
had not caused him to despair ; and as each day he 
fulfilled his round of duties, the hope was strong within 
him that a brighter morn would yet appear. 

On the first day of 1845, Peter entered the service 
of Mr. Michael Brady, a wealthy Irishman, also a mer- 
chant of Tuscumbia. He was a young bachelor of 
pleasing manners and strict business habits. 

Peter had now better opportunities than he had 
ever before enjoyed for gaining general information. 
He was employed about the store, in waiting on his 
young master, and doing errands; and he was fre- 
quently an interested listener to conversations which 
they did not dream he had the sense to understand. 
He had also many opportunities of becoming ac- 
quainted with the citizens of the town, and his habits 
of close observation tended to his rapid advancement 
in a knowledge of human nature. Even at this time 
few more correct judges of character could be found in 
town than this quiet, docile slave. He seemed to see 
beneath the surface, and to glance deep at the motives 
of the heart. 

Mr. Brady, although extremely kind to Peter, had 
some peculiar notions. He paid for his board at a 
hotel, instead of letting him earn it by waiting on the 
table, as was the custom with young men who hired a 
slave; and he positively forbade Peter's performing 



208 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

the slightest service for any person except his partner 
and himself. In this prohibition Peter felt the galling 
chains of slavery. He loved to do a kindness ; and it 
was so natural to bring a bucket of water, or to black 
a pair of boots for some young gentleman who ad- 
dressed him kindly, that he could scarcely avoid 
offering such little services, though he knew that thus 
he should incur the displeasure of his young master. 

But Mr. Brady was firm. He did not intend that 
his servant should need favors from others. He pre- 
ferred supplying his wants himself; and often, when 
Peter was going on Saturday night to make his accus- 
tomed visit to his family, the young man gave him 
some little present for them from the store. 

For all these kindnesses Peter was duly grateful, but 
they did not sweeten the slave-cup. It still overflowed 
with bitterness ; and in his heart he spurned the draught, 
and vowed he would be free. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

PETER HIRES HIS TIME. 

The next year, 1846, the young master, John H. 
Hogun, having become of age, assumed the control of 
his wife's property, and hired Peter to Mr. Allen Pol- 
lock, a bookseller of Tuscumbia. 

Mr. Pollock had, some weeks before Christmas, pro- 
posed to Peter that he should live with him the ensu- 
ing year, and hire his own time. He had not much 
for him to do, he said, and after cutting his wood, 
putting his store in order, blacking his boots, and 
doing such other small jobs as might be necessary, he 
could get work elsewhere in town ; and all he earned 
above the eighty -five dollars hire which Hogun must 
receive, should be his own. True, this arrangement 
was against the law, but if it were kept secret, it could 
do no harm. 

For a long time Peter hesitated. Mr. Pollock was 
said to be a close, penurious man, and our student of 
human nature doubted the disinterestedness of his 
motives. Still there was a chance that he might suc- 
ceed in saving something ; he might, at least, procure 
more comforts for his family than they had yet pos- 
sessed ; and he at length resolved to try, 

[209] 



210 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

So the bargain was concluded; openly with. Mr. 
Hogun, privately between Mr. Pollock and the slave ; 
and Peter entered, trembling, upon the new year. He 
had never before occupied so respectable a position. 
The eighty-five dollars must be earned, and that was a 
great sum to be raised by dimes and half dimes, for 
doing little jobs about town. 

At a short distance from the store was Major Pope's 
hotel, where he engaged his board, for which he was to 

/ CD <ZD * 

pay by waiting on the table. He then looked about for 
work ; and was recommended by some friend to the 
teachers of the Ladies' School, as a neat and careful 
man, who would be capable of keeping the rooms in 
order, and of performing any other labor that might be 
required about the building. He was immediately 
engaged for this service, which occupied him two or 
three hours each day. 

He also, now and then, found whitewashing to do ; 
and when extra servants were wanted on occasion of a 
wedding or a party, he found profitable employment. 
If a cook was sick, he was competent to take her place; 
and when some weary child of earth had finished his 
short pilgrimage, Peter was called upon to hollow his 
lowly grave. 

He was at the same time hired by the month to take 
care of several stores — to sweep, black boots, take up 
ashes, and bring water ; and thus he became well known 
to most of the business men in town. 

The young gentlemen frequently gave parties at the 
Franklin House, then the principal hotel in town. 
They furnished the refreshments and table furniture, 
merely occupying the rooms of the hotel for which 
they paid a reasonable sum. On these occasions, Peter 



PETER HIRES HIS TIME. 211 

was invaluable. Ho prepared the rooms and arranged 
the tables, and the pleasures of the evening were never 
marred by neglect or carelessness in his department. 
Then he had a quiet way of keeping things in place, 
and of seeing that the guests were supplied with all 
conveniences throughout the evening; and after the 
gay company had dispersed, he returned all borrowed 
articles, and re-arranged the furniture of the rooms in 
its accustomed order . 

His ready kindness, and his promptness in executing 
his employers' wishes, won him the confidence and 
esteem of all he served ; still, these numerous cares and 
diverse occupations were extremely fatiguing. All the 
day long, and often till late at night, he was in active 
exercise of mind and body, yet though his limbs grew 
weary, his energies of spirit never drooped. 

Thus passed the year away. Every week or two he 
paid his hire to Mr. Pollock, who several times pro- 
posed to act as his treasurer. These offers Peter de- 
clined, excusing himself by saying that he spent the 
most of his money to buy things for his wife and chil- 
dren, and so he had not much to keep. 

"I don't see, then," said the gentleman, "any use in 
your hiring your time, if you spend all your money." 

" Oh! that's what I work for," replied the slave, "to 
buy comforts for my family." 

At the end of the year he had saved seventy-five 
dollars, besides having spent thirty-five dollars, during 
the year, on his wife and children. But this was a 
profound secret to all but Vina. No one in Tuscumbia 
knew even that he hired his time. It was understood, 
by those for whom he labored, that Mr. Pollock per- 



212 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

mitted him to make his own bargains, and that to him 
he paid in all he earned. 

His success this year was an astonishment to himself. 
It opened a new world before him. Hitherto, his only 
hope of escape from slavery had been in flight ; but 
now came other thoughts. " Seventy-five dollars in 
one year! How long would it take to buy myself if 
I could get the same chance every year ? Oh ! if I 
could be free I" 

Towards the close of the year. Mr. Pollock pro- 
posed to his master to hire Peter again ; but Mr. Hogan 
declined making a second bargain with him until he 
had consulted Peter. 

" Well, boy," said he, a few days before Christmas, 
" do you want to live with Mr. Pollock again next 
year?" 

"No, Sir," replied Peter, "I don't keer 'bout livin' 
with him." 

" Why, I reckon he's used you well this year, and 
he offers to pay me up now for your hire. I reckon 
you'll do as well with him as any where. It's not 
often that a man offers to pay money before it is due." 

" Well, Sir, if you hire me to Mr. Pollock, I shall 
have to stay with him ; but there's Mr. Joseph Fried- 
man — he'll pay you as well as Mr. Pollock, and he'd 
like to hire me for next year." 

The young master immediately called on Mr. Fried- 
man, and learning that what Peter had told him was 
correct, he hired him to the Jew before he left the 
store. 

The Jew ! Yes ; Joseph Friedman was a German 
Jew, who had resided in Tuscumbia for six or seven 



PETER HIRES HIS TIME. 213 

years. He came there at first with a small stock of 
goods and opened a store, and by untiring industry 
and strict economy he had now accumulated a hand- 
some little fortune. 

He was small in stature, with the black hair and 
keen dark eyes peculiar to his race. Associated with 
him in business was his younger brother, Isaac, who 
was taller and handsomer than Joseph, but scarcely his 
equal in sagacity and force of character. 

At the commencement of their sojourn in Tuscumbia, 
these Jews, the first that had ever settled in that region, 
were regarded with suspicion and dislike. But as their 
stern integrity and manly independence of character 
became known to the citizens, the prejudice excited by 
their peculiarities of religion and manners gradually 
subsided. As business men, they gained the confidence 
of the public, and though they never mingled freely in 
society, they were no longer exposed to rudeness or 
neglect. 

Peter during the past year, had been mysteriously 
attracted towards these somewhat isolated brothers. 
His thoughts had been intensely occupied in devising 
some method by which he might yet taste that liberty, 
which, notwithstanding he had been forty years a slave, 
he still felt was his right. Day and night he had pon- 
dered this subject; but one great difficulty was ever 
present to his mind. He knew not a man whom he 
could trust. If he dared to breathe, in human ear, his 
wish for freedom, the bold thought might be reported 
to his master, and from that moment he would be 
looked upon as unsafe property. The consequence of 
this might be a sale, and a journey to the low country ; 
and then the light of hope would be forever quenched. 



214 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

And even if his master should be willing to sell him 
to himself, what security could he have that he would 
not deceive him, and while he took his hard-earned 
ransom, retain him also in his iron grasp? His long 
acquaintance with slavery in every guise had made 
him wary. He remembered Spencer Williams of Lex- 
ington, who three times paid the price of his own re- 
demption, and was at last sent to the hated South in 
chains. No wonder that Peter trembled at the thought 
of such a blighting of his budding hopes. No wonder 
that he weighed each word that fell upon his ear, in 
order to discern the spirit of the speaker. Oh ! that 
he knew a man of soul so brave that he could safely 
confide to him his heart's great secret! There might 
be many such in town ; but how could he distinguish 
them from those whose flattering words proceeded from 
the deep, dark caverns of deceitful hearts ? 

W^hile his ear was thus eagerly bent to catch the 
breath of honesty, some chance remarks of Mr. Fried- 
man drew his attention. The Jew made no display of 
his opinions, or declaration of his principles ; but ut- 
tered merely some careless sentence, which revealed 
his sympathy with the suffering, and his hatred of in- 
justice and oppression. Peter had often performed 
slight services for the two brothers, and whenever he 
was in their presence, although no word respecting 
himself was uttered, he felt that he was regarded as a 
man. 

It was this feeling which induced him, before his 
year expired at Mr. Pollock's, to ask Mr. Friedman to 
hire him for the ensuing year. If he could persuade 
him to do this, he could have an opportunity to be- 
come more thoroughly acquainted with his character ; 



PETER HIRES HIS TIME. 215 

and perhaps — oil! how the bare idea thrilled his 
frame ! — perhaps he should thus discover the path to 
liberty. 

To Peter's request the Jew readily assented, and, as 
before related, the bargain with his master was con- 
cluded. 

On the first day of January, 1847, Peter commenced 
his labors under the protection of Mr. Friedman. Ac- 
cording to their private contract, he was to board and 
clothe himself; and then, whatever he earned above 
his hire should be his own. He waited on the table at 
a hotel, as during the previous year, to pay his board ; 
and his clothing cost him very little — as the Friedman 
brothers gave him all their cast-off clothes, as well as 
occasionally the material for a new garment from the 
store. Besides these, he frequently received presents 
of half- worn clothing from other young men whom he 
was always glad to serve ; or from married ladies, of 
discarded articles from the wardrobe of their husbands. 

These clothes, however, he never wore, but sold 
them to slaves from the surrounding plantations — re- 
ceiving in payment, eggs, chickens, or any little pro- 
ducts of their patches, which they brought into town 
for sale. These articles he conveyed to the hotel, 
where they were always in demand, and so were 
speedily converted into money. lie always appeared 
in the same attire — blue roundabout and trowsers, with 
strong shoes ; and a more respectable looking servant 
could not be seen in all the town. 

At the opening of this year, Mr. A. E. Sloan, form- 
erly of Syracuse, N. Y., who had purchased the in- 
terest in the school of the former Principal, established 
the Tuscumbia Female Seminary. Mr. Sloan was a 



216 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

gentleman of agreeable personal appearance, scrupu- 
lously neat in his dress and surroundings, and orderly 
to fastidiousness. He determined at once to establish 
in the school a new system of order and discipline ; 
and soon made inquiries for a person competent to 
carry out his plans in the arrangement of the school- 
rooms. Peter was the first one named to him, and he 
immediately secured his services. This measure he 
afterwards found no reason to regret, for so quiet was 
he, and yet so prompt and regular in the performance 
of his duties, that soon his presence, for a few hours 
each morning, seemed indispensable to the comfort of 
the school. A few weeks later, Mr. G. H. King, of 
Northampton, Mass., came on to teach music. He, 
too, soon learned Peter's excellent traits of character, 
and gave him employment whenever he had pianos to 
move, or any work to be done which required careful- 
ness and promptitude. 

He was now employed about the school-rooms a 
much greater proportion of his time than he had been 
during the preceding year. His grateful love for Mrs. 
Stedman had predisposed him in favor of Northern 
ladies ; and as at the Seminary he ever received kind 
looks and pleasant words, he soon became warmly 
attached to all the teachers. Yet he never confided to 
one of them his secret. They regarded him as an em- 
bodiment of good humor and content ; never imagin- 
ing that the idea of freedom had been struggling in 
his breast for years. Once or twice, he says, he was on 
the point of opening his heart to one of the young 
ladies, but when he tried to speak the great hope that 
was swelling in his breast, something seemed to choke 
him, and he could not utter it. He took an oppor- 



PETEK HIRES HIS TIME. 217 

tunity however, to sound Messrs. Sloan and King on 
the subject of slavery ; and they represented the con- 
dition of the slaves as so far above that of the free 
blacks at the North, that he judged it would be idle to 
look to them for sympathy in his one engrossing hope. 

" Why, Peter," said Mr. King, " negroes in the 
North do not fare half as well as you, and they are not 
so well thought of. Few people will employ them or 
trust them they are shunned and disliked. To tell 
the truth, most of them deserve no better treatment ; 
for they are an idle, worthless set of fellows." 

All this did not discourage Peter. A voice within 
him whispered, " Toil on ! Heed not such words as 
these ! Liberty is before you ; and you have drunk 
too deep in slavery to believe that freedom would ren- 
der you less happy, or less worthy of esteem." 

The confidence between the worthy Jew and his 
faithful servant was constantly on the increase ; yet, as 
the year drew near its close, and Mr. Friedman made 
no advances towards hiring him for the next, Peter 
became uneasy. Several other persons had proposed 
hiring him, but he had told them all that he thought 
Mr. Friedman wished to keep him another year. 

At length, when Christmas was very near, he one 
day saw his young master across the street, and he re- 
solved to terminate his suspense So he approached 
the Jew. "Look yer, sir," said he, "ain't you wil- 
lin' to do the same by me next year that you have 
done ?" 

"Yes, Peter." 

" Well, are you satisfied with the way I have done 
this year ?" 

" Yes ; — are you satisfied ?" 



218 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANOSMED. 

" Yes, sir, to be sure I am : and if you're willin' to 
do agin like you've done this year, why don't you go 
and hire me ? Thar's my master, over yon." 

"I see him there, but I will not run to speak to 
him." 

" Well, sir," exclaimed the delighted slave, " I'll 
tell him you want to hire me ; and we shan't have no 
new bargain to make; if you'll do like you have 
done, so will I." 

The conference ended, and soon Peter was hired for 
another year to Joseph Friedman. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 
PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 

Peter commenced the year 1848 with high hopes. 
His last year's gains had greatly encouraged him, for 
he had laid up, besides expending over thirty dollars 
for his family, one hundred and five dollars ; which, 
with thirty dollars which he had saved before he hired 
his time, and the seventy-five that he had accumulated 
while with Mr. Pollock, made two hundred and ten 
dollars now in his possession. 

The hope of being free he had thus far communi- 
cated to none but his true-hearted wife ; but now, as 
he had become satisfied that Mr. Friedman was his 
friend, he determined to seek his co-operation in his 
plan. This resolution was not formed without the 
most careful consideration ; and yet, when he ap- 
proached the counting-room for the purpose of opening 
to the Jew his cherished plans, his heart throbbed 
painfully, and his knees trembled so that he could 
scarcely walk. 

" Mr. Friedman," said he, " I've got something I 
want to tell you, but it 's a great secret." 

" Well, Peter " 

" I've been a thinkin', sir, I'd like to buy myself ; 
and you've always dealt so fa'r with me, I did n't know 
but you mought buy me, and then give me a chance." 

t219] 



220 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

The Jew's countenance brightened. He had become 
much attached to Peter, and had often wished in his 
heart that by some means the faithful fellow might 
be free, but such a plan as this had not occurred to 
him. 

" Can you get the money, Peter ?" 

" I reckon I could, if you did n't pay too high for 
me. Mars, John Henry ought n't to ask a great price 
for me, no how, when I've served the family so 
long." 

" How much shall I give for you ?" 

" I think, sir, five hundred dollars is as much as 
you ought to pay." 

u Hogun will not sell you for that price/' said the 
Jew. " John Pollock offered him six hundred, and 
he laughed at him. Some men in town would give 
eight hundred dollars for you — not because you are 
worth so much, but because they know you." 

" Well, sir, I have served the family for thirty-five 
years. I have earned' 'em a heap of money, and have 
been mighty little trouble or expense. They can af- 
ford to sell me for five hundred dollars." 

" Yes : — well, I will speak to Hogun." 

The proposition of the Jew received, at first, but 
little favor. Peter was an old family servant, and 
they intended to keep him in the family as long as he 
lived. They did not wish to sell him. 

" Well," said Friedman, "I would like to buy him. 
He has a cough, and if he belonged to me, I would 
try to cure it, but while he is your property, I can do 
nothing for him. I will give you five hundred 
dollars." 

Hogun turned away. He did not want to sell the 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 221 

boy ; if lie did, that was no price for him. He would 
bring twice that sum. 

A few months after this conversation, Joseph Fried- 
man went to the "Bed Eiver Country," where he 
opened a store ; leaving his brother Isaac in charge at 
Tuscumbia. This made no change in Peter's con- 
dition. He toiled on as before, steadily adding to his 
precious gains, while the great hope of freedom grew 
stronger in his heart. 

Soon after his brother left town, Isaac renewed to 
Mr. Hogun the proposition to purchase Peter, but 
with no more success. The young mistress did not 
want him sold; especially to a Jew, who had no 
higher wish than to make money. He would pro- 
bably soon sell him again : for what use had he for a 
servant?— and then, perhaps, the poor old fellow 
would be carried away to the " low country." 

After several attempts to purchase him had been 
unsuccessful, Peter determined to try the power of his 
own eloquence. Accordingly, during the last week 
of the year, he went out to the plantation. 

His young mistress had gone with her husband to 
town ; but they soon returned. Peter met them at the 
gate, and "Miss Sarah," after shaking hands with him, 
went in; while the young master remained in the 
yard to inquire after his health. His cough was par- 
ticularly troublesome whenever any of his master's 
family were near, and now it annoyed him exceed- 
ingly. "Ugh! ugh! Mass'r John Henry, I come to 
see you 'bout Mr. Friedman buyin' me. I like to live 
with him ; and he said he done named it to you." 

"Yes, he did; but he didn't offer any price for 
vou — only five hundred dollars." 



222 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" Well, Mass'r John Henry, aint that thar enough 

for me?" 

« ]v[ — I can get a thousand dollars for you any 

day." 

" Ugh ! ugh ! I think you mighty hard to ask such 
a big price for me when I been in your service so long. 
Miss Sarah done got all my arnins ever since I be- 
longed to her great uncle, Mars Nattie Gist, Koav 
when I'm a'most fifty years old, ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! I 
think five hundred dollars is enough for me ; and 
'pears like, sir, you oughtent to ask no more." 

"Well, Peter, you know people like to get all they 
can for their property ; and it makes no difference to 
you ; any how, whether I sell you for a big price or a 
little one." 

"Yes, sir, it does, Mass'r John, kase if a person 
gives a thousand dollars for me, he 'lows he's gwine to 
work it out of me ; but Mr. Friedman just wants me 
to wait on him about the store; and he says he'll 
cure my cough, too — ugh ! ugh I He can't afford to 
pay a big price for me, and then doctor me up." 

" Well, go 'long — I don't want to sell you any how ; 
I'd rather bring you home to wait on your Miss Sarah, 
and to drive the carriage than to sell you for any such 
price." 

"Yes, sir, if you and Miss Sarah was a livin' by 
yourselves, I'd like that ; but I don't never want to 
come back to work on the plantation — ugh ! ugh ! I 
couldn't stand that now. But I belong to you, sir, and 
of course I must do just as you say. What shall I do, 
Mass'r John?" 

" Go back to town, and stay till I come to see about 
you." 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 223 

"Goodbye, Mass'r John. Ugh! ugh! ugh!" 

Thus he coughed himself out of the yard. All the 
way back to town he walked with a heavy heart. If 
his master would not sell him, all his bright hopes 
would yet be blasted. He had, however, done all in 
his power. He had used every argument that would be 
likely to influence him in whose young hand his des- 
tiny was held — now he could only wait with patience 
the result. 

When the young master was next seen in town, the 
Jew hired Peter for another year, and with his wonted 
cheerfulness of demeanor, the disappointed slave en- 
tered upon the labors of 1849. Was there no sublim- 
ity in his patience ? — no grandeur in his maintenance 
of Faith and Hope against the giant forces of Despair? 

It was not long before the young master's aversion to 
sell an old family servant was suddenly removed. On 
the tenth of January an auction was held in town of 
certain goods — the property of his late uncle — " Old 
Jimmy Hogun." Among these "goods," were ten 
choice negroes, two of whom were boys about sixteen 
years old. These boys, young John Henry wished to 
own ; and before they were put up, he called upon the 
Jew. 

"Look here, Friedman," said he, "you want Uncle 
Peter, and I want those boys that are for sale to-day. 
If you will go in and bid off one of the boys for me, I 
will let you have Peter in exchange." 

" I will think about it. How high will the boys 
go?" 

" I don't know, — they're not worth as much as a 
tried hand like Uncle Peter. Step in, and see how 
the sale goes on." 



224 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

He left the store, and Mr. Isaac immediately held a 
consultation on the subject with Peter himself. The 
wary slave objected to the plan. "You are not used 
to dealing in slaves," said he, " and" you'd best not buy 
the boy. There'll be some game about it. If young 
master wants to buy him, he'll come round, I reckon." 

Soon the young gentleman called again to learn 
the decision of the Jew. Isaac renewed his former 
offer for Peter ; but declined to buy the boy. 

" Five hundred dollars is no price for such a serv- 
ant ; you may have him for six hundred, though he 
is worth more." 

" Wo — I will not pay six hundred." 

Away way went Hogun to the auction. The two 
boys were soon to be put up. He grew more and 
more and more anxious to buy them, and at last de- 
termined to make one more effort to bring the Jew to 
his terms. 

"Well, Friedman," said he, as he stepped into the 
store, " you may have Peter for five hundred and fifty 
dollars." 

The black eyes of the Jew twinkled with delight, 
but he was firm. 

"I will give you five hundred dollars," said he, 
"my brother authorized me to pay that sum." 

"But," argued Hogun, "he is a great favorite in 
t 0W n — I have been offered six hundred dollars for 
him." 

"I say I will give five hundred; not one dollar 
more." 

The sale was going on — Hogun grew desperate. 
The boys he wanted would not wait for bidders, for 
they were choice fellows. 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 225 

"Well," said he, as he walked towards the door, 
"you may have him for five hundred; but it's a 
shame to sell him so." 

" Then he is mine !" 

"Yes." 

" For five hundred dollars !" 

"Yes." 

" Yery well, your money will be ready when you 
want it." 

Hogun hastened back to the auction. The boys 
were just going up. He bid off the youngest for seven 
hundred and fifty dollars, and the other became the 
property of a planter, named W — , a few miles south 
of the town. 

It was night. At his desk sat the young Jew, re- 
viewing the business of the day. Cautiously the door 
was opened, and Peter entered the counting-room — 
pausing to listen before he closed the door lest some 
chance visitor might be approaching. All was still. 

" Now, Mr. Friedman," said the slave, while his 
voice trembled, and his whole frame was agitated, "I've 
come to pay you that money ; and I reckon you wont 
cheat me. I've worked mighty hard to get it. There's 
three hundred dollars in this yer bag." 

So saying, he drew the precious treasure from his 
pocket, glancing instinctively towards the corners of 
the room, to be sure that no spy was there concealed. 
He proceeded to untie the bag. It was made of 
leather — about twelve inches long, three inches wide 
at the bottom, and half that width across the top. 

It contained pieces of silver of all sizes, and now 
and then, as they came forth with a melodious clink- 



226 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

ing, a piece of gold glittered in the lamp-light.* When 
the bag was about half emptied, Peter paused. It would 
be so easy for him to lose it all, and he had known so 
many slaves defrauded of their hard-earned gains, that 
it seemed impossible for him to trust. " But," thought 
he, "I've knowed Mr. Friedman a long time, and I 
never knowed him to do a mean trick. If I can't trust 
him, the Lord help me ! I can't never be free without 
trustin' some person, any how." 

He emptied the bag upon the table, and both counted 
it twice. It was right — three hundred dollars. 

Mr. Friedman wrote a receipt for the money, and 
signing it, handed it to Peter. Poor fellow ! He could 
not read it ; but he believed it genuine, and a load 
was lifted from his heart. After all, he might be de- 
ceived. He was in this man's power; but he resolved 
to trust, and to go to work with all his might to earn 
the balance of the sum required to make him a free- 
man. 

The next day Mr. Hogun received the stipulated five 
hundred dollars, and gave a bill of sale, of which the 
following is a copy : 

" $500. For the consideration of five hundred dol- 
lars, paid to me this day, I have sold to Joseph Fried- 

* It was Peter's custom, when he saw a piece of gold in the 
hands of a gentleman whom he had served, to ask him if he would 
not like change for that. If he received an affirmative reply, he 
would bring from his precious bag the amount in small silver coin. 
The writer knew him at one time to get ten dollars in five-cent-pieces, 
changed for gold. His habits of industry were so well known that 
such a request excited no suspicion — the small amount thus changed 
at once was presumed to be the sum of the poor fellow's wealth. 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 227 

man a negro man named Peter. I bind myself and 
heirs to defend the title of said negro, Peter, to the said 
Joseph Friedman and his heirs against all claims what- 
ever. 

Given under my hand and seal this 15th January, 
1849. John H. Hogun." 

Great sympathy was felt in Tuscumbia for "poor 
Uncle Peter." It was so strange that Hogun would 
sell such a faithful old man to a Jew. Of course, Fried- 
man wanted to make money out of him ; and when he 
became no longer profitable, he would not scruple to 
carry him off and sell him. 

Thus spake gentlemen and ladies; and soon their 
children caught the tone. "Don't you think," said 
one bright eyed little girl to another, as they walked 
to school, " Uncle Peter is sold !" 

" Sold ? I'm so sorry ! Who's bought him ? Are 
they going to carry him off?" 

" No — no not now. Mr. Friedman 's bought him : 
and 'ma says he's a Jew, and she says Jews will sell 
their own children for money. Pa says he don't doubt 
that Mr. Friedman will sell him the very first chance 
he gets to make money out of him ; and then, perhaps, 
he'll be taken off to the rice swamps." 

" Oh ! that will be too bad ! Aunt Milly says that 
in the rice swamps they don't care no more for killing 
black folks than they do for pigs and chickens. Oh ! 
I'm so sorry for poor Uncle Peter ! But what did 
they sell him for? He did'nt run away — nor his mas- 
ter did n't die." 

" I don't know what made them sell him, his master 
wanted the money, I reckon. Oh! I wish my Pa 



228 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

owned him — he would n't sell him, I know. Ma says 
she thinks it's a pity for black folks to be sold at all, 
but sometimes it can't be helped." 

" Well, I think it ought to be helped, for they feel 
so bad to be carried away off from everybody that 
loves them. Just think — if Mr. Friedman should sell 
Uncle Peter away off where he never could come back 
— Oh ! would n't it be too bad ?" 

Said a gentleman, " Why did 1 t you let me know, 
Peter, that your master wanted to sell you ? I'd not 
have let that Jew get you. He'll sell you again ; or, 
perhaps, work you to death." 

-" No, sir, I reckon not," replied Peter ; " Mr. Fried- 
man's always been mighty good to me, and I reckon 
he'll use me fa'r. Leastways, I belong to him now, 
and he'll do just as he thinks best." 

Such was the judgment pronounced upon the nobler 
hearted Jew by men and women who had bought and 
sold, and beaten, and oppressed the poor until their 
cry had gone up to heaven. They considered it their 
right thus to trample on their darker brethren. They 
were born slaveholders, and when their servants ne- 
glected their duties, or so far forgot their station as to 
speak improperly to their superiors, they must be 
beaten, though their heads were grey. Money, too, 
was sometimes " tight," and then the sale of a few of 
the young negroes that were " really in the way about 
the kitchen" would help to fill the purse. These were 
their rights under the Constitution; but for a Jew to have 
such power over a choice old servant was quite too bad. 
" A foreigner too ! How could he know the feelings 
of tenderness cherished by a true Southerner for his 
slave?" 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 229 

Meanwhile the despised and snspected Jew was ar- 
ranging, with the object of all this sympathy, their 
future relations to each other. " You may work, as 
you did before," said he to Peter, "but you may keep 
your earnings. When you get two hundred dollars 
more, I will give you free papers, and you shall go 
where you like. I do not want your work — get all 
you can for yourself." 

Did the heart of the slave bound at these words ? 
Did the tears of gratitude sparkle in his eye ? and the 
bright beams of hope irradiate his countenance ? Ah ! 
there is One " who seeth not as man seeth," and in His 
eye the generous truthfulness of the slandered Jew 
outshone the gaudy hypocrisy of his traducers. 

Peter continued his usual labors with a light heart. 
He had now no hire to pay — his earnings were all his 
own. 

The night after paying his three hundred dollars to 
Mr. Friedman, he went out to make his usual semi- 
monthly visit to his wife. How her heart throbbed 
when he told her all ! Again and again she asked him 
if he were sure Mr. Isaac would be true. The chil- 
dren, too, had their hundred questions. Their father 
was very dear to them ; and now he possessed new 
dignity, even in their eyes. " Just think, he would 
soon be free !" No selfish dread that thus he might 
be lifted above them dimmed their transparent hearts. 
They loved their father, and they could not doubt 
him. 

A few months later, a heavy sorrow fell upon this 
loving group. The third son, William, who, at Peter's 
solicitation, had been hired, as waiter, to Captain Bell, 



230 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. ■ 

in Tuscumbia, was found drowned in the Spring Creek, 
just below the town. 

It was a warm morning in July, and he had obtained 
permission to go out fishing. Several boys were near 
him bathing, but after a while they all left him, and 
went some distance down the creek. Here they con- 
tinued their play till about dinner time, when, as they 
came up, one of them noticed a boy's clothes on the 
bank. " They're William's clothes," said two or three 
at once. "Where is he?" Alas, they could obtain 
no answer to their question, and they ran up to town 
and gave the alarm. A crowd of men and boys has- 
tened to the creek; and after diving for some time, 
they found him at the bottom. 

That night the sorrowing father conveyed the life- 
less body of his son to the cabin of his wife, whence he 
was buried beside the little ones that in their infancy 
had sunk to happy slumbers. 

Poor Tina's heart was almost crushed by this af- 
fliction. William was her darling; indeed he was a 
favorite with all who knew him. " Oh !" sobbed his 
mother, " I could a seen him die if I'd thought it was 
the Lord's will ; but to think o' his strugglin' and goin' 
down thar all alone, 'pears like, it's more'n I can b'ar." 

In September of this year, Joseph Friedman returned 
from Texas ; and soon after, Peter paid to him one 
hundred dollars, which he had earned since January. 
The Jew seemed delighted at the success of his humble 
friend, and congratulated him on the prospect of soon 
becoming free. Only one hundred dollars was now 
lacking, and that, if he were prospered, he soon could 
earn ; and then he should be free. 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 231 

Patiently he toiled on. His brow was all unruffled, 
and no trace of care was visible on bis cheerful face. 
He moved so quietly in his accustomed course, that 
men forgot their jealousy of the Jew, and little maidens 
ceased to pity " poor Uncle Peter." 

Late in the evening of the sixteenth of April, 1850, 
Peter sought, once more, the counting-room of Mr. 
Friedman. His hand might well tremble as he raised 
the latch ; for his all was now at stake, and he was 
helpless. He entered. There sat the little Jew, look- 
ing at him with his keen black eyes. Timidly he drew 
forth his leather bag, and commenced counting out the 

money. 

A footstep approached. Mr. Friedman quietly laid 

a pile of papers over the coin, and Mr. S , the 

auctioneer, walked in. 

" What, Peter," said he, " are you paying up ?" 

" Yes, sir. Mass'r Joe make me pay him up close " 

" How much do you have to pay ?" 

" Well, sir, he makes me pay him half a dollar a 

day." 

" That's pretty tight, but it's the best way, after all." 

« Yes — that is so — I like to keep all close. Peter 
must pay me promptly." 

When the neighbor's chat was ended, and they 
heard his receding footsteps on the sidewalk, they 
finished counting the money. How beautiful it looked 
to Peter ! that little heap of coin, as he shoved it to- 
wards the Jew, and felt that now his fate hung entirely 
on the will of the little man before him. 

Mr. Friedman took up his pen, and wrote a receipt 
in full, together with a Certificate of Freedom, as fol- 
lows : 



232 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Keceived, Tuscumbia, January 26th, 1849, 
of my boy Peter, three hundred dollars . $300 00 

Jos. Friedman. 



Eecd. Sept. 1st, 1849, of my boy Peter, $88 00 
Eighty-eight dollars and twelve dollars 12 00 100 00 

Eecd. March 29th, 1850, of Peter, sixty dollars, 60 00 

Jos. Friedman, $160 00 

Keceived, April 16th, 1850, forty dollars, 40 00 



$500 00 
For, and in consideration of the above five hundred 
dollars, I have this 16th day of April, 1850, given 
Peter a Bill of Sale, and given him his freedom. 

Joseph Friedman. 
Tuscumbia, Ala., April 16th, 1850. 

Precious was this paper in the eyes of the self-ran- 
somed slave, and yet he felt not all secure. The habit 
of doubting that truthfulness of which he had so seldom 
seen an illustration, could not at once be overcome. 

He had five dollars left, with which he bought a 
trunk of Mr. Friedman ; and then in one old silver 
dollar, which he had kept for many years, consisted 
all his store. 

Mr. Friedman had charged him no interest on the 
two hundred dollars which he had advanced to pur- 
chase him of Mr. Hogan, and during the last year he 
had bestowed upon him many little presents. Jew 



PETER BUYS HIMSELF. 233 

though lie was, and sometimes quoted as a miser, yet 
he knew the happiness of being a blessing to the poor. 

Immediately after receiving this last payment from 
his servant, Joseph Friedman started for California, 
leaving Peter in the care of his brother Isaac. The 
whole transaction was still a secret, no mortal save the 
two brothers, and Peter's own family were aware that 
he had even wished for liberty. 

He was one day engaged in cleaning the church, 
when *two or three ladies came in to superintend his 
labors. Among; them was Mrs. D. one of the most 
excellent ladies in town. "Peter," said she, when she 
had finished giving him some direction, " you ought 
to be free. You have been a faithful servant for a • 
great many years ; and now that you are getting old, 
you deserve to have your freedom, instead of being 
sold to those Jews." 

"Oh!" replied he, " what use would it be for me to 
be free?" 

" Why then you could do as you chose, and go 
wherever you liked." 

"What! now I've got to be an old man, a'most 
fifty ? I've got no house nor garden ; and if I was free, 
I'd have to hire a house, and buy my own clothes; and 
then if I should be sick, there'd be nobody to take care 
of me. No, ma'am 'taint no use for me to think of 
bein' free. I'm too old to be turned off to take care 
of myself." 

Thus carefully did he conceal his real feelings, lest 
he should place in greater peril that freedom which he 
had so dearly won. 

At the approach of summer, Mr. Isaac Friedman 
decided to sell out his stock of goods in Tuscumbia, in 



234 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

order to remove to Cincinnati, where his brother Levi 
then resided. 

Peter no sooner learned this plan, than he requested 
leave to accompany him as far as Louisville. In all 
his intercourse with the Jew, he had never revealed to 
him his early history, or breathed to him his own great 
wish — that of seeking his parents, and his childhood's 
home. But he had often talked of Lexington, and now 
he said he should like once more to visit "the old 
place." 

Mr. Friedman readily assented, and Peter com- 
menced his preparations for the journey. His earnings 
since he had finished paying for himself, together with 
his receipts from the sale of a few articles which he no 
longer needed, amounted to eighty dollars. That he 
thought, would be sufficient to meet his expenses on 
the way. 

The Tuscumbians again became excited. Some gos- 
siping oracle "reckoned" that Joseph Friedman had 
failed, and straightway that important reckoning was 
announced to be a fact. Joseph had failed, and Isaac 
was about to sell off his goods at auction, and quit the 
country. Uncle Peter, too ivas to be dragged off and sold, 
or, as some said, to be hired out upon a steamboat, and 
thus exposed to all the frightful sickness that then raged 
upon the Western rivers. " Now Uncle Peter," said one, 
" if you find out that those Jews are about to sell you, 
just let me know, and I will buy you." 

" It will be too bad for them to speculate out of you," 
said another, " but I expect that is what they bought 
you for." 

To all these kind expressions of interest in his wel- 
fare, Peter had but one reply. " Mass'r Joe and Mass'r 



PETEK BUYS HIMSELF. 



235 



Isaac always lias been good to me ; and any how, I 
belong to them, and they can do what they like." 

" What a contented old fellow he is !" said one who 
listened to this quiet answer. " I'd like that some of 
the abolitionists should hear him talk, they would be 
obliged to own that niggers 1 pining to he free is moon- 
shine." 

The Saturday before Mr. Friedman intended to leave 
town. Peter went out to pay a farewell visit to his 
family. To them lie unburdened all his heart. His 
great hope had been, if he could once be free, to find 
his own relations, whom he always thought of as living 
in or near Philadelphia. Then, if they were able, per- 
haps they might assist him in the purchase of his wife 
and children, and so, at last, they could all dwell to- 
gether. 

This hope had so inspired the little family at Bain- 
bridge, that their grief at parting with their beloved 
father was lost in the bright vision of a speedy re- 
union in the dwelling of the free. They knew nothing 
of the difficulties to be encountered ; or of the time re- 
quisite to perfect such a work, even if their father were 
successful in his search. He had bought his freedom; 
and in their eyes, such an achievement proved him 
equal to the attainment of any end. Not thus sanguine 
was their father ; but he was strong in his fixed resolve 
to work while he had breath for the redemption of his 

loved ones. 

In sweet, though somewhat mournful, conversation 
passed the hours of this precious visit. They were all 
too short for the utterance of the many last fond words ; 
and on Monday morning, when the father was obliged 



236 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

to leave them they had not found time for half they 
wished to say. 

The loud horn called them to their labors, and the 
children said " Good-bye/' and hastened out — but Vina 
lingered. Oh ! it was hard to see him go away alone 
— but still she would not bid him stay. She mounted 
her mule, and rode toward the field, while Peter 
walked for a short distance by her side. 

His heart was very heavy, but he uttered not his 
gloomy thoughts. He would fain leave her cheerful ; 
for he knew that ere his return, her heart would often- 
times be shadowed. So he spoke hopefully of the 
future, and bade her never fear for him. "I will 
come back," said he, " whether I find my people or 
not — I will come back, and let you know. Now take 
care of yourself and the children ; and mind they don't 
tell the secret." 

Too soon their paths diverged. When they came 
opposite the half- plowed field they stopped. " Well 
Peter," said the brave-hearted wife, u this yerh your 
road, and yorfs mine. Good-bye." One pressure of 
the hand — one last earnest look — and they each pur- 
sued a separate road; the one to slavery's dreary 
labors, the other toward that Paradise of hope — The 
North. 




" Well Peter, this yer' s your road, and yon' s mine. See page 236. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JOURNEY TO PHILADELPHIA. 

On the twentieth of July, all preliminaries being 
arranged, Mr. Friedman and his servant took the boat 
for Louisville. 

" Now, Peter," said Dr. W , as he shook hands 

with him upon the sidewalk, " mind what I tell you ; 
if those Jews go to sell you, just telegraph to me." 

"Thank you, sir, I will; but I reckon they ain't 
gwine to sell me, any how." 

Several other gentlemen, as he passed along, gave 
him similar assurances ; and with the kindest wishes 
of all the citizens, he left the town. 

" That is outrageous," said a kind hearted gentle- 
man, who watched the faithful servant as he passed 
out of sight— "for that Jew to carry off such a fellow 
as old Peter, and to have a right to sell him whenever 

he likes." 

Peter paid his fare to Louisville by working on the 
boat— The Greek Slave— Captain Francis. When 
they reached that city, the cholera was raging fear- 
fully ; and Mr. Friedman thought best to make no 
stop, but to hasten on to Cincinnati. Thither also, 
Peter obtained permission to accompany him ; and at 
six o'clock on the morning of the twenty-sixth of 
July, the free soil of Ohio was pressed by his weary 

feet [237] 



238 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Now, for a time, lie threw off his pretended bonds, 
and gave way to his emotions of delight, Springing 
from the boat, he clapped his hands in ecstasy, shout- 
ing, " I'm free ! Fin free ! This is free ground ! The 
water runs free ! The wind blows free ! I am a slave 
no more I" 

"Hush! Peter," said Mr. Friedman, "people will 
think you are a fool !" 

That day, in the house of his brother, Levi Fried- 
man, Peter revealed to his late master the story of his 
life. He told him all that he remembered of his early 
childhood — of his being stolen, of his brother's life 
and death, and of the one hope which had animated 
all his labors — that of returning to the spot where he 
was born, to find, if possible, his kindred, and to see 
his mother's grave. 

Friedman listened with astonishment; and when 
Peter described, as well as he was able, his early home, 
which he located at Philadelphia, the Jew could not 
believe the tale. "No, no," cried he, "you came from 
Kentucky — your master told me so." 

"Yes," replied Peter, "so I did come from Kain- 
tucky ; but I was stole and carried there when I was a 
little boy. I remember the Delaware river — it was not 
far from my mother's house ; and that river is at Phila- 
delphia — leastways, so people has told me. And now 
I want to go and see if I can find my relations." 

The wonder of his auditor was intense. He could 
not comprehend how, during all these years, so cruel 
a wrong had been suffered to go unredressed. 

" I do not like to have you go away alone," said he 
to Peter. " The cholera is raging on the river, and 
you might be sick and die among strangers." 



JOURNEY TO PHILADELPHIA. 239 

But his fears could not detain the enthusiastic free- 
man. " Never mind," said he, " if I die, nobody don't 
lose nuthin by me. I'm my own man, any how, but I 
reckon I won't die. 'Pears like, now I've got so fur, 
my work ain't gwine to be lost." 

After spending a day and a half at a colored board- 
ing house in Cincinnati, where he had his clothes all 
put in order, he started for Pittsburg. A cousin of 
Mr. Friedman accompanied him to the wharf and saw 
him on board the boat. 

How anxious was his heart as the steamer dashed 
away. He was all alone, and utterly ignorant of the 
perils he might meet. But he trusted in the Lord, and 
kept a cheerful countenance. 

His characteristic caution prompted him to observe 
closely the movements of his fellow-passengers, and 
one of them soon absorbed his attention. This was a 
short dark man, with a disagreeable expression of 
countenance. Peter remembered seeing- the same man 
on the boat from Louisville to Cincinnati, where he 
had made several attempts to draw him into conversa- 
tion, without, however, learning anything further in 
answer to his questions than that Peter was going to 
Cincinnati. Now he renewed his advances, striving to 
draw him into conversation, and at last asked him if 
his owner were on board. 

"I don't need any," said Peter, as he walked 
away. 

Soon an elderly gentleman, very genteelly dressed, 
approached him, and asked if his master were on 
board. 

"I have no master," replied he, "who said I had a 
master ?" 



240 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" But you are a slave," persisted the gentleman, 
"or at least have been one. I knew it as soon as I 
saw you. Where are you going ?" 

"I am gwine to Pittsburg, and then to Philadelphia; 
and I am a free man. Who said I had a master ?" 

" Where did you come from ?" 

" From Cincinnati." 

His interrogator left him in no pleasant mood. Two 
colored barbers on the boat had told him that the short 
dark man was watching all his movements. He was 
whispering, too, they said, among the other passengers, 
that he knew that fellow was a runaway ; and he 
would take him up, if he had not other business to 
attend to. He was hunting, he said, for a rascal who 
had escaped from prison ; and he could not undertake 
another job." 

When the boat approached Wheeling, several indi- 
viduals came to Peter, and offered their advice. The 
short dark man kept his eye upon him, but said 
nothing. One young gentleman with a pleasant 
countenance stooped down and said in a low voice, 
11 Now, my friend, there are a great many watching 
you ; and if you are free, stand to it. Don't leave the 
boat ; — -just say that you are free." Seeing some one 
approaching, the young man rose up, and walked to 
another part of the boat. " I thought," said Peter, as 
he narrated this incident, " that the Lord sent that 
young man, and that he was a true friend ; so I deter- 
mined to take his advice." 

Soon came another. " See here, my friend," said 
he, " the people tell me that you are running away. 
Now, I am a friend to colored people. Here is five 
dollars — you'd better not stop in Wheeling, for they 



JOURNEY TO PHILADELPHIA. 241 

talk of taking you up. You take this five dollars, 
and walk across the bridge — and you'll be in a Free 
State, where they can't hurt you." 

''No, sir, I thank you," said Peter, "I have paid 
my passage to Pittsburg, and I shall not leave the 
boat. Let 'em take me up if they like ; I can tele- 
graph to my friends in Cincinnati, and I reckon they 
can make 'em pay for the time I'm hindered. Yes ; 
let 'em take me up, if they think best." 

Notwithstanding the bravery of his bearing, he felt 
extremely uneasy ; and as Mr. Friedman had given 
him no instruction respecting the proper method of 
procedure in such cases, he was forced to rely alone 
upon his own judgment. He readily suspected the 
hypocrisy of the very kind friend who offered him five 
dollars, and advised him to hasten across the bridge. 
Had he accepted the gift and counsel, he would tacitly 
have acknowledged himself a runaway, and so he 
might have become an easy prey to the vultures that 
pursued him. 

But he was not arrested. He saw groups of men 
whispering together in different directions — and he 
knew they watched him constantly ; but he seemed to 
regard them with such cool indifference, that they did 
not venture to attempt the execution of their plots. 

The boat arrived at Pittsburg early in the morning ; 
and Peter was conducted by a colored fellow-passenger 
to the house of a friend of his, where they took break- 
fast. After remaining about five hours in the city, he 
took the stage to cross the mountains. He was 
anxious to reach Philadelphia as soon as possible, for 
he was told in Pittsburgh that there would be a great 
turn-out of the colored people there on the first day of 



242 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

August ; and that, lie thought, would be a favorable 
time to seek his kindred. 

He paid for a seat inside the stage ; but it being 
crowded with passengers, he was requested to ride out- 
side. He accordingly seated himself beside the driver, 
where he rode all clay. The grand scenery of the 
mountains was new to him, and wonderful. Wife and 
children were behind. He could hear their voices, 
now sad, now trustful, as they talked of " father," 
while their mother cooked their scanty supper. Sub- 
dued were the tones of their dear voices, for on no 
strange ear must fall the cherished secret that he was 
free. They little dreamed that he was riding now 
over these wild rough mountains. How strange the 
scene ! The tall hemlocks which sheltered the highest 
peaks, seemed stern and unloving — but the warm sun 
looked down upon them all. The same sun even then 
was shining upon his toiling loved ones ; and oh ! per- 
haps it also shone upon the graves of all those whom 
he had come so far to seek. 

Such were his thoughts as, hour after hour, he gazed 
upon the ever- varying grandeur of the Alleghanies. 

After travelling by stage about twenty four hours, 
he took a seat in a rail-road car. This was another 
wonder. His previous ideas of rail-roads had been 
gained from the only one he had ever seen — that ex- 
tending the length of the Muscle Shoals, and connect- 
ing Decatur and Tuscumbia. On that he had been 
accustomed to see, once a day, two or three little 
rickety cars come jolting into town, loaded chiefly 
with freight, but occasionally bringing also a few tired 
passengers. These cars were drawn by two or three 
sleepy-looking mules or horses ; for the snake' s-heads 



JOUENET TO PHILADELPHIA. 243 

were so numerous upon the road, that the wheezing 
old locomotive, which sometimes came down with 
freight alone, rendered the journey too perilous for 
passengers. 

What a contrast to all this was now before him ! 
The bright locomotive, the long trains of elegantly 
furnished cars, and the smooth, level track of Pensyl- 
vania road, astonished him ; while the frequent vil- 
lages he passed, the highly-cultivated fields, and the 
substantial farm-houses, with their great stone-based 
barns, impressed him with still greater wonder. 

On the afternoon of the first day of August, the 
train reached Philadelphia. Peter sprang to the 
ground ; and, getting possession of his trunk, he 
stepped aside, and stood an amazed spectator of the 
noisy scene. Porters accosted him with — " Where 
want to go, sir?" 

"I don't want to go no further than yer." 

The crowd began to scatter. Friends met friends, 
and departed in their company ; every one seemed in 
haste ; he only was alone and purposeless. Far away 
on every side stretched the great city — the goal of all 
his hopes, perhaps their grave. 

He stood still by his trunk, till his fellow-passengers 
had all dispersed. He knew not where to go. He 
had been advised, while in Pittsburg, to go to a cer- 
tain boarding-house in Philadelphia ; but the name he 
could not now remember. " Suppose," said he to 
himself, " some Abolitionist should come along now, 
mighty friendly, and tell me where to go, and so I 
should be entrapped and sold again. I must be careful." 

After he had stood alone for more than half an hour, 
an elderly colored man came up, and kindly accosted 



244 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

him. "Do you wish to go to some part of the city, 
friend?" 

11 Yes," replied Peter, " I was recommended, in Pitts- 
burg, to go to a boardin'-house, kept by a Christian 
man, a preacher ; and I would like to find it." 

"What is his name?" 

" I can't think. I've been a studvin' all the time 
since I stood here, and I can't remember it. I only 
heard it once in Pittsburg ; but he is a Christian man, 
and a minister." 

The stranger suggested many names, and at last 
mentioned "Dr. Byas." 

" Thar — that's the man — I knowed I should re- 
member it, if I heard it spoke." 

" Well," said the stranger, "I know where he lives, 
and I will carry your trunk there for a quarter." 

Peter assented, and followed him. With the trunk 
upon his shoulder, the stranger led the way through 
the handsomest part of the city ; but the beautiful 
buildings which they passed scarcely won a glance of 
admiration from Peter. His dear dead brother's fea- 
tures were in his mind's eye ; and, in the face of every 
colored man he met, he looked to find their counter- 
part. He gazed in vain. No lineament of that well- 
remembered face could he discover among the passers- 
by, and he was glad when his guide stayed his steps 
before the modest residence of the good Doctor. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



THE KIDNAPPED BOY RESTORED TO 
HIS MOTHER. 



Mrs. Byas herself answered the bell. She was a 
bright mulatto woman, with a kind smile and a pleas- 
ant voice. Dr. Byas, she said, was not at home — he 
had gone to Cincinnati. Peter explained to her that 
he was sent there by some friends in Pittsburg. 

" Oh, well, then, come right in," said she, " I can 
take care of yon." 

He entered the house, and sat down, while the good 
woman proceeded to explain to him the cause of her 
husband's absence. To this he hearkened not. " Do 
you know how fur it is to the Delaware river?" 
said he. 

"Why, yes — it is right down here at the wharf." 

He sprang to his feet. " That is just the river I'm 
a huntin' for. I was born on that river ; and I want 
to go down and find the old house where my father 
and mother lived — right on the side of the hill." 

" Oh, stay till I get you some dinner," said Mrs. 
Byas, "and then I will show you the way to the 
river." 

" No, no — I must go now — I believe I can find the 
house." 

[846] 



246 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

But she prevailed on him to sit down and eat a 
lunch ; and then, according to her promise, she directed 
him to the river ; giving him at the same time her 
street and number, so that he might find his way 
back. 

When he reached the river he walked a long way 
up the stream looking for the well-remembered woods 
upon the hill-side. But the city stretched a long way 
up the river, and as far as he could see, the bank was 
dotted with the costly dwellings of the rich ; — no hum- 
ble cottage like the one in his memory, met his eye ; 
and when thoroughly wearied in the fruitless search, 
he returned disappointed to the residence of his kind 
landlady. 

She was much interested in the stranger, and to aid 
him in his efforts, she sent a man with him into the 
streets, directing him to inquire of any aged colored 
people he might meet for a man named Levin, and his 
wife, Sidney, who lost two children about forty years 
before. 

This search was unsuccessful ; and at night Peter 
turned, with weary feet, towards his boarding-house. 

Early the next morning he arose, and with new 
strength and energy, re-commenced his search. He 
found one old man who had lived in Philadelphia 
fifty-three years. He told him that he knew of sixty 
colored children that were missing from that vicinity 
in one year; and in another year forty were carried 
off, of whom no trace was ever found. Yet he had 
never known the Levin and Sidney whom Peter 
sought. 

Hour after hour he continued these fruitless in- 
quiries; and at last he was forced to abandon this 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 247 

method of search, and to return to Mrs. Byas for fur- 
ther counsel. 

Towards evening the good woman devised another 
plan. She told Peter that at the Anti-Slavery Office 
were kept old records of colored Churches ; and that, 
as he was sure his parents were religious people, it 
was quite possible that their names might there be 
found. She thought it best for him to go there imme- 
diately, and ask them to search these records. 

He did not hesitate to follow her advice ; and, with 
the same guide who had previously accompanied him, 
at about six o'clock, he started for the Office. 

The guide who had been sent by Mrs. Byas had no 
confidence in Peter. His story seemed to him impro- 
ble ; and he suspected him of being a spy sent out to 
hunt for fugitives. This distrust soon became mutual. 
Peter dreaded the Abolitionists of the North, of whose 
decoying people away and selling them at the far South 
he had so often heard; and as he noticed that the 
guide spoke frequently in a low voice to those lie met, 
he feared some net was spreading for his feet. 

At last they reached North Fifth street, and as they 
passed a window of the Anti-Slavery Office, they saw 
a young colored man within, writing at a desk. 

"Did you ever see a black man doing that at the 
South?" asked the guide. 

"No, indeed," replied Peter, "if a black man thar 
knowed how to write, he'd best keep it a secret." 

They entered the office. The young clerk whom 
they had noticed through the window was there alone. 
He was graceful in his bearing, and dressed with 
extreme neatness. 

"Good evening, sir;" said the guide. "Here is a 



2-18 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

man from the South that says he is hunting for his 
people ; and he wants to make me believe he was born 
in Philadelphia. Mrs. Byas sent me here with him — 
she thought possibly you might find the names of his 
parents on some of your books." 

" What were you parents' names?" asked the young 
man of Peter. 

" I was stolen away from the Delaware river," said 
he, " with my brother Levin, when I was about six 
years old. My father's name was Levin, and my 
mother's name was Sidney ; and we had two sisters — 
one name 'Merica and the other Charity ; though my 
brother always said that 'Merica was our cousin. One 
day when our mother was gone, as we thought, to 
church, a man came along in a gig, and asked us if 
we didn't want to ride. He told us he would carry 
us to our mother ; so we got up with him. But in 
place o' carry in' us to our mother, he taken us off into 
Kaintucky, and sold us. We used to talk a heap 
about our mother, but nineteen years ago my brother 
died in Alabama ; and now I've bought my liberty, 
and come back to hunt for my relations." 

The young clerk listened with much apparent inte- 
rest, and when Peter had ended his simple story, he 
requested him to wait till he had finished putting up 
those papers for the Post Office, when he would render 
him any assistance in his power. 

Peter constantly grew more uneasy. He could 
not shake off the idea that some snare was here laid 
to entrap him, and while the young man was busied 
at his desk, he slipped along a little nearer to the door, 
in order that he might escape if any violence should 
be attempted. 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 249 

When the papers were all prepared for the mail, the 
clerk sat down near him, and entered into conversa- 
tion. " It will take sometime," said he, " to look over 
those old papers, and this man may as well go home. 
I will show yon the way back to Mrs. Byas'." 

The guide rose to depart,— and Peter prepared to 
accompany him. " I'll go, too," said he. 

" No, no,— stay;" said the clerk, "I will do m Y 
best to find your friends." 

"Yes, stay— by all means;" added the guide,— if he 
will look for them, it isn't worth while to g'o away 
now." J 

Peter was greatly . frightened. He thought he 
could detect a mutual understanding between the two 
to keep him there till night, that they might commit 
some outrage upon his person; but he knew no way 
of escape, for he was a stranger. Trembling, there- 
fore, he consented to remain; but seated himself as 
near as possible to the door, and watched intently 
every motion of the young man whose treachery he 
so much feared. 

When they two were left alone, the clerk questioned 
him further respecting his early memories of home and 
mother; and then, looking him in the face, he said, 
" Suppose I should tell you that I am your brother?" 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not 
have been more astonished. But the doubt was up- 
permost in his mind, and with an incredulous look he 
answered, only, "Supposin' you should?" 

'Well," continued the young man, "from all you 
have told me, I believe that you are a brother of mine. 
My father's name was Levin, and my mother's name 
is Sidney ; and they lost two boys named Levin and 



250 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Peter, about the time you speak of. I have often 
heard my mother mourn about those two children, 
and I am sure you must be one of them." 

The young man's voice trembled as he spoke ; and 
Peter, more frightened than ever, knew not what to 
say. He did not believe one word the clerk had said ; 
for had he not merely repeated his own story ! At 
last he spoke: "I want to ask you one question — is 
your father and mother a livin' ?" 

" My father has been dead some years," replied the 
clerk, " but my mother is still living." 

"Well, sir," said Peter, "then your mother is not 
my mother ; for my mother must be dead. My brother 
said, before he died, that he was sure she was dead ; 
and that is nineteen years ago. Yes, my mother must 
be dead. I don't expect to find her alive, but I thought 
I mought find her grave." 

In vain the young man strove to convince him that 
they might both be sons of the same mother. In vain 
he related little incidents connected with their loss, 
which he had heard from his mother's lips. Peter still 
believed that he was merely constructing a tale to 
match his own. "Oh!" thought he, "what a fool I 
was to tell him, any how I" 

"Where does your mother live?" asked he, after 
some minutes spent in painful thought. 

" She lives in New Jersey, but I have two sisters 
living in this city. 

"New Jersey/" Where could that be ? It must be 
a great way off, for he had never heard of it. Perhaps 
it was across the sea. "New Jersey," said he aloud, 
" how far is that from yer ?" 

" Oh, it is just across the river. My mother lives 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 251 

fifteen or twenty miles from the city. Come, go with 
me to my sister's ; one, of them lives quite near. She 
is several years older than I, and can tell you much 
more about our family." 

"No, sir; if you please, show me the way to my 
boardin'-house. It is night, and I'd rather go thar." 

But the young man urged him so strongly, that he 
at last consented to accompany him to 'see his sister 
Mary, an unmarried woman, who taught a little school, 
and kept a few boarders. 

She was engaged, when they entered, in removing 
the tea-things; and, as she supposed Peter was some 
stranger who was going home with her brother, she 
took no special notice of him. Soon she started to go 
into the basement, and the young man followed her. 
Peter heard them talking, in a low tone, upon the 
stairs, and all his worst fears returned. He had heard 
of houses kept by infamous women in cities ; and of 
strangers being beguiled into them to be robbed and 
murdered. He had heard, too, of kidnappers, that em- 
ployed colored agents to ensnare their victims ; and the 
perspiration started from every pore, as he fancied 
himself thus entangled. He could not flee, for he 
knew not where to go ; and if he made inquiries for 
his boarding-house, he might fall into other dangers. 

After a few minutes, which seemed an age to Peter, 
the brother and sister returned into the room, and sat 
down. "Sister," said the clerk, "here is a man who 
tells a strange story. He has come to Philadelphia to 
look for his relations, and I should like to have you 
hear what he has to say." 

She turned to Peter. "For whom are you looking ?" 
said she. 



252 THE KIDNAPPED" AND THE KANSOMED. 

" Oh," lie replied, Fm a lookin' for a needle in a hay- 
stack : and I reckon the needle's rusty, and the stack is 
rotted down, so it's no use to say any more about it. 11 

"But tell her," said the young man, "what you re- 
lated to me in the office." 

He proceeded to repeat his story ; but when he spoke 
the names of his father and mother, his listener could sit 
still no longer. Seizing the candle, and holding it 
near his face, she cried, " Lord! it is one of our lost 
brothers! I should know him by his likeness to 
our mother. Thank God! one of our brothers has 
come!" Then checking herself, she turned to the 
young brother, "0 William, this will kill mother!" 

Peter was still more agitated, yet not convinced. 
He was so unprepared for such a joyful greeting, that 
he could not believe they were sincere. He promised, 
however, to come again in the morning, and to go with 
her to see an older sister, who resided in another part 
of the city. 

After spending a few minutes in further conversation 
respecting their family, the clerk, according to his 
promise, accompanied Peter to his boarding-house. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Byas," said he, as he entered 
the neat parlor ; "did you send this man to the Anti- 
Slavery Office this evening?" 

" Yes, sir. I thought he might find some account 
there of his people." 

" Well, he is my own brother." 

The good woman looked amazed. 

" My parents," continued the young man, " lost two 
children over forty years ago ; and from this man's 
story I am convinced that he is one of those brothers. 
And now I have brought him back here, as I promised 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 253 

at the office ; but I want him to go home with me and 
stay all night. In the morning I will take him to see 
other members of our family. 

" No, sir," said Peter, who could not yet fully trust 
his new-found brother, " I'd as lief stay here to-night; 
and then I can go with you in the morning." 

Mrs. By as, however, joined in urging him to go 
home with Mr. Still; assuring him that he did resem- 
ble him in looks, and that she doubted not they were 
really brothers. At last, after much persuasion, he 
reluctantly bade his kind landlady " good night," and 
departed with the clerk. 

"Still" — thought he as they walked along — "it 
seems this man's name is William Still. Then if he is 
my brother, that must be my name, too. I wish I 
knowed. And his mother has always loved the boys 
she lost, and talked a heap about 'em. Well, this is 
an oncommon case. 'Pears like they all believe this 
man's tale ; but I can't think my mother's a livin' yet, 
and that I've come right on to one of her children. 
It seems mighty queer that they all are so ready to own 
a stranger, any how. Well, I shall know more about 
it to-morrow, when I come to see the other 'ooman ; 
but I'd a heap ruther staid with Mrs. Byas this yer 
one night. Thar's no knowin' what'll happen afore 
mornin'." 

Thus, full of doubts and fears, he walked silently 
beside his young companion towards his home. This 
was a substantial three-story brick house, situated in a 
retired, though pleasant part of the city. 

Mrs. Still was absent on a visit to her husband's 
relatives in New Jersey ; and after eating their supper 
the excited brothers separated for the night. 



254 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Peter, when left alone in his chamber, gave way to 
his long-pent grief. Oh ! why had he thus exposed 
himself to every danger ? Why did not Mr. Friedman 
give him more instructions with regard to his future 
course. Did he not know that his path would be beset 
with dangers ? Then came thoughts of poor Vina, 
and the children ; and he knew they were thinking of 
"father" and feeling sure he must be happy now that 
he was free. Ah well, he was glad they could not know 
the dangers which surrounded him. What could these 
people intend to do ? Oh ! if he should find after all 
that their tale were true — but it could not be. Per- 
haps they were all Abolitionists, and had contrived a 
plan to carry him off and sell him. 

For fear that he might fall asleep and be surprised, 
he piled the furniture of the room against the door ; 
looking first under the bed, and examining carefully 
every corner, to be sure that no enemy was concealed 
in his chamber. He then lay down ; and after weary- 
ing himself with striving to devise some plan of escape 
from the imaginary dangers which encompassed him, 
he fell asleep. Even then he found no rest, for soon 
his room was stealthily entered by armed men. Start- 
ing from his slumber, he listened to hear their foot- 
steps, — but all was still. Then he was about to leave 
Tuscumbia with his master ; and all his clothes were 
gone. Again he was in the little cabin where Yina 
cared for his children, and prayed for their father, and 
ruffians came and tore him from their arms. All night 
his dreams were gloomy horrid ; and in the morning 
he was unrefreshed. Yet the light of a new day was 
welcome ; for he was anxious to learn more of these 
strange people who claimed him as a brother. 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 255 

After breakfast lie returned to his boarding-house ; 
where he had a long conversation with Mrs. Byas. 
She was utterly unconscious of the existence of his 
doubts and fears ; yet her frankness of manner, and 
her evident confidence in the integrity of " Mr. Still" 
went far to remove them from his mind. 

At twelve o'clock he went, according to appoint- 
ment, to the house of Miss Mary Still, in order to ac- 
company her in a visit to other members of her family. 
She received him with sisterly affection— manifesting 
not, by word or look, a doubt of his being indeed one 
of her own lost brothers ; and the two soon started 
for the residence of the other sister who lived in the 

city. 

Her name was Kitty. She was several years older 
than her sister Mary, and was, at this time, a widow. 
Her daughter was standing near the door as they 
entered, and inquired for her mother. Away she ran 

to call her. 

" mother," cried she, w Aunt Mary has come and 
brought a man with her that looks just like my grand- 
father. Come, quick, and see him." 

" Kitty," said Mary, as her sister approached, "here 
is one of our lost brothers. He came to William last 
night, and I am going right away with him to see 
mother." 

Kitty asked no explanation. She saw in him a 
striking likeness to both her parents ; and after the 
first burst of joy was over, she prepared to accompany 
them. " Yes, I'll go too ;" said she. " How glad I 
am ! What will mother say ?" 

The small steamboat, as it left the wharf that after- 
noon, bore no more interesting group than this. The 



256 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

two sisters alternately questioned and congratulated 
their new-found brother ; and he — his heart was full. 
Now, for a moment, he believed that it was real — that 
they were indeed his sisters ; and then his doubts re- 
turned. The joy was greater than his brightest hopes 
had promised. 

But of one thing he was sure. He was upon the 
Delaware river — that beautiful stream which had ever 
been the pole-star of his hopes. He blessed its bright 
waters, and its verdant banks. They had been beauti- 
ful in his mind's eye, and now he felt that even if this 
new hope were all delusive, he must yet be near the 
home of his childhood. He strove to recall the look 
that his mother wore when last he saw her face, and 
then he wondered how he could for a moment hope to 
meet her again in life. 

Thus between hope and fear, between confidence and 
doubt, he wavered, till they reached Long Bridge, 
about ten miles above the city. Here they landed, 
and took seats in the stage for Medford ; near which 
town resided their brother — Dr. James Still. 

When they arrived at his house, it was nearly dark, 
and they thought best to remain there all night, and 
go to see their mother the next morning. " There," 
said one of the sisters, "is brother James now walking 
towards the barn." 

He turned,, and looked towards them, and the mo- 
ment Peter saw his face, his doubts departed, to return 
no more. He was so like poor Levin, that dear brother 
who lay low in Alabama, there could be no mistake. 
The full tide of joy rushed over his soul. He had 
lound brothers and sisters ! His mother lived ! He 
should yet see her face. 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 257 

For a short time after their arrival, all was excite- 
ment and confusion ; the sisters who had accompanied 
him both talked at once, and all the family pressed 
eagerly forward to greet him who had come, as it were, 
from the dead. His resemblance to their family was 
so striking that they hesitated not for a moment to 
receive him as a brother. 

In relating incidents of the long years of his bond- 
age the evening passed away — that pleasant evening, 
long will it be remembered by each member of that 
little circle. 

Peter's heart was now at rest. He had realized the 
dream of his boyhood— the great hope of his riper 
years. " Oh," thought he, " if poor Levin conlcl be 
with ns now ; and if Vina and the clear children were 
only free, I shouldn't know what more to ask for." 

Early the next morning, Dr. Still, with his new 
found brother, and the two sisters set out to visit their 
mother, who lived eight miles distant. On the way 
they agreed, as far as possible, to avoid surprising or 
exciting their mother, as on account of her great age 
(she was nearly eighty) they feared that by a shock, 
even though it were a joyful one, she might be over- 
come. 

The venerable woman lived with Samuel, the oldest, 
except Peter, of her sons, upon the form which had 
been owned by her late husband. When her children, 
arrived, she had just risen, and was standing in the 
door. Peter's first impulse was to spring from the 
wagon, and to clasp the precious form of his mother to 
his heart, but his sisters' caution sounded in his ears, 
and he struggled to control himself. Forcing back the 



258 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

flood of tenderness which came gushing up from his 
throbbing heart, he walked with placid face behind his 
sisters, who advanced to greet their beloved parent. 

" Mother," said Kitty, "you know it is the custom, 
when one of your daughters marries, for her to come 
home, and bring your new son-in-law. Now which 
of these would you rather take for your son?" pointing 
as she spoke to Peter, and to the man who had been 
hired by her brother James to drive them out. The 
mother answered with a smile, and the party entered 
the house. 

Peter chose a seat near his mother, and subduing his 
emotions, gazed earnestly upon her aged face. There 
was the same mole concerning which he had so often 
disputed with his brother Levin, who always main- 
tained that it was only a dark spot upon her face. His 
thoughts were busy with the past. Ah ! how well he 
remembered the time when his young lips had pressed 
that mother's cheek, when all his childish griefs had 
been forgotten while he lay folded to that loving 
breast. 

He remembered too, the kindnapper, with his slimy, 
lying tongue ; his transfer to Kentucky, and the heavy 
blows by which they strove to crush out from his 
young heart the memory of his mother's love, all his 
long years of weary, unrequited toil — a sad procession, 
passed before him as he sat apparently a calm spec- 
tator of the joyous greetings of his kindred. His 
brother also, he remembered, and that brother's grave, 
a far-off, unmarked grave, and all that brother's sor- 
rows. Yes, he remembered all the past. The host of 
cruel wrongs which he had suffered rushed at once 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 259 

into his mind, and from the stand point which he had 
now gained, the heartless acts of his oppressors, looked 
a hundred fold more hateful than before. 

But he was not long left to his own thoughts. The 
excitement of their arrival having subsided, he said to 
his mother, " Are all these jour children." 

"Yes," she replied, "the most of them are mine." 

" You have a large family." 

"Yes, I have had eighteen children." 

" How many have you livin'?" 

"I have buried eight, and I have eight living." 

" I thought you said you had eighteen — eight livin' 
and eight dead would make but sixteen." 

The breast of the aged woman heaved as with long- 
pent anguish ! " Ah !" said she, " them two boys have 
been more trouble to me than all the rest of my chil- 
dren. I've grieved about them a great many years." 

"What became of them?" asked Peter. 

" I never knew what became of them. I left them 
asleep in the bed, the last time I ever see them. I 
never knew whether they was stole and carried off, or 
whether they was dead. I hope though, they're in 
heaven." 

At that moment, her oldest daughter, Mahala,* who 
lived very near, came running in. " Do tell me," cried 
she, half out of breath, " what is the matter? Is any 
body dead?" 

No one replied. She glanced around the room. 
" Who's this?" cried she, talking to mother. "Who 
is he ? Is n't he one of mother's lost children ? He 

* Peter remembered her as 'Merica. The little Charity he also 
remembered, was the daughter of his mother's sister. 



260 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

favors the family, and I'm sure lie must be one of 
them." 

" Who ? me ?" said Peter. 

" Yes ; mother lost two children a great many years 
ago, and you must be one of them." 

" I'm a stranger from Alabama," said he. 

" I can't help it," cried the excited woman. " I am 
sure you are one of mother's children, for you favor 
the family." 

One of the other sisters then approached the mother, 
and broke to her the joyful news. The aged woman 
sat for a moment bewildered by the strange scene — 
then rising, she walked into the next room, where she 
knelt in prayer. 

In a short time she returned, trembling in every 
limb, though her face was calm. " Who are you ?" 
said she, approaching the stranger. 

11 My name," said he, " is Peter, and I had a brother 
Levin. My father's name was Levin, and my mother's 
name was Sidney ." 

The mother raised her tear-dimmed eyes to heaven. 
"0, Lord," she cried, "how long have I prayed to see 
my two sons ! Can it be that they have come ? Oh ! 
if you are my child, tell me how oViJ once more!" 

The long-lost son was blest. He clasped his mother 
to his warm, full heart, and joyful tears stole down his 
dusky cheeks. 

One week he spent with his new-found kindred. 
As he related to them the history of his years of bond- 
age, and described the strangely varied scenes through 
which his path had led, his listeners were never weary ; 
and when he told of all poor Levin's sorrows, of his 
years of patient suffering, and of his peaceful, happy 



PETER RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. 261 

death, the spirit of their departed brother seemed to 
hover near the little circle, and to whisper to each 
weeper there — " Dry now your tears, for where I dwell 
are neither bonds nor tortures — sorrow and sighing are 
unknown." 

Peter soon discovered that the habits and condition 
of his relatives differed widely from those described in 
the South as universal among "free negroes." They 
were all industrious and frugal ; and consequently, in 
comfortable circumstances. 

lie did not envy them, but, as he noticed their in- 
telligence, and saw the comforts by which they were 
surrounded in their own homes, he could not avoid the 
thought that slavery had kept Mm ignorant and poor. 
"But times will change," thought he, "and if ever I 
get my family, my children shall have a chance to 
know as much as others." 



CHAPTER XXX. 

PETER'S FAREWELL VISIT TO ALABAMA. 

Gladly would his friends have retained Peter in 
their midst, but his plan was fixed. He determined to 
return immediately to the South, that he might 
acquaint his family with his success, and arrange some 
plan for their redemption. He felt that he could not 
himself enjoy the blessings of freedom, and the sweet 
society of those who loved him while his own wife and 
children toiled in hopeless bondage. 

To his proposed return his friends, at first, refused 
to listen. They could not bear to lose him now, when 
they had just learned to love him, and they felt sure 
that if he went again to Alabama they should see his 
face no more. 

It would be far better, they said, for his family to 
gain their liberty by flight, and perhaps if he would 
remain, some one would go and aid them to escape. 
It would be so hazardous for him to venture where, if 
his secret were discovered, he might be thrust into jail, 
and sold upon the block. But he was firm. He knew 
the dangers which awaited him, yet he had promised 
his family that he would return; and he would rather 
lose his life than forfeit his word to them. He knew 

[262] 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 263 

how anxiously they would watch for his coming ; he 
knew how their hearts would faint if he delayed ; — 
ah ! he knew that his love was the one blessed light 
which shone upon poor Yina's darkened path. From 
his own lips she should first hear of his great happi- 
ness, and together they would try to devise a plan by 
which herself and children might come to share his 

joy- 
Perhaps he could purchase their freedom. This had 

ever been his hope ; and though his friends believed it 
was impossible, they failed to shake his confidence in 
the wisdom of making the attempt. He had rescued 
himself from bondage, and he knew "no such word as 
fail." "I can die," said he, "but I cannot live with- 
out tryin' to do something for my family — I must go 
back." 

With many tears, the affectionate circle bade him 
adieu. u O, my child! my child!" sobbed his aged 
mother. " I never shall see your face again. You 
can't get back ; and your poor old mother will go 
down to the grave a mournin' for her son. May the 
Lord bless you wherever you go, and deliver you from 
every danger!" 

On the eighth of August, Peter left Philadelphia, on 
his return to Alabama. He feared that if he remained 
longer in that city, he might meet some merchant 
whom he knew ; as at that season they were ac- 
customed to come on for their Fall goods. If a Tus- 
cumbian should see him there, the news would swiftly 
fly, that he had run away from Mr. Friedman ; and 
then he could not return, even with free papers, to 
complete his cherished plan. 



26-i THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

A kind Providence, however, attended him ; and he 
reached Cincinnati without meeting a familiar face. 
Strangely commingled were his emotions, as he re- 
turned. The regretful voices of his brothers and 
sisters still sounded in his ears ; and the memory of 
all their kindness during his short stay, was warm 
within his heart. He rejoiced that he had found them. 
Even if he should never be able to return to them, 
the dark uncertainty which had so long hung over his 
parentage, and had shrouded all his life in gloom, was 
gone. Not less did he rejoice in the character of his 
newly-discovered kindred. They were evidently 
honest people — trusted and respected by the surround- 
ing community. They had enjoyed great privileges 
too, for they were all well educated ; yet they were 
not proud. Ah, well, it was some satisfaction that he 
had ever done the best he could. He had risen above 
all who had been his companions in bondage, and he 
felt that, though he was ignorant of books, his friends 
had no cause to be ashamed of him. 

Arrived at Cincinnati, he related to his former mas- 
ter all his success, and communicated also his plans for 
the future. The Jew was both astonished and de- 
lighted at the good fortune of his humble friend, and 
readily promised to aid him, if possible, in negotiating 
for the purchase of his family. 

Peter remained in Cincinnati a week, waiting for 
his free papers. These he was anxious to possess on 
his return to Alabama, as something might occur 
which would render it necessary for him to prove his 
freedom. At last he obtained the valued certificate, 
of which the following is a copy : 



PETEK'S FAREWELL VISIT TO ALABAMA. 265 

" State of Ohio, ^ 
City of Cincinnati, y 5, 

"Be it known that before me, Henry E. Spencer, 
Mayor of said City, personally appeared Isaac S. 
Friedman, who being duly sworn, deposes and says : 
that he has been acquainted with a colored man 
named Peter Still, alias Peter Friedman, for the last 
five years: that the said Peter was formerly a slave 
belonging to John H. Hogun, residing about three 
miles from Tuscumbia, in the State of Alabama : that 
Joseph Friedman, of Tuscumbia, hired the said Peter 
for about two years of the said John H. Hogun, and 
afterwards bought him, and held him as a slave for 
about two years longer, when Peter bought his free- 
dom from his master, the said Joseph Friedman, 
brother of this deponent, by paying him the sum of 
five hundred dollars ; as fully appears from a bill of 
sale given by said Joseph Friedman to said Peter, and 
dated Tuscumbia, Ala., the 16th day of April, 1850, 
which bill of sale this deponent fully recognizes as 
genuine. 

Cl And further this deponent sayeth not. 

" Isaac S. Friedman." 

" The foregoing affidavit of the above-named Isaac 
S. Friedman, to the freedom of the within-named Peter 
Still, having been duly sworn to and subscribed before 
me, — 

" I therefore do declare the above-named Peter Still, 
alias Peter Friedman, to be a free person, and entitled 
to all the privileges of free persons of color, accord- 
ing to the laws of the State of Ohio. 

" Said Peter Still is about forty -nine years of age, 
12 



266 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

is five feet seven and a half inches in height, of a 
brownish black complexion, and without any marks 
or cuts. 

" Given under my hand, and the Corporate Seal of 
the City of Cincinnati, this 22 d day of August, 

1850. ' 

"H. E. Spencer, 
" Mayor." 

Peter was now a man. His years of patient toil for 
noble objects had not made him such — his warm, un- 
selfish heart had never proved him worthy of the en- 
nobling title — but he possessed free papers. Guard 
well the treasure, Peter ; for the papers lost, you 
may again be bought and sold — a thing of merchan- 
dise — a slave. 

Immediately after receiving his papers, he started 
for Tuscumbia. He wore not proudly his new honors, 
but laying the precious certificate in the bottom of his 
trunk, he travelled meekly as a slave upon a " pass" 
from Mr. Friedman. This pass was directed to Mr. 
Alexander, of Tuscumbia, a gentleman who had once 
before acted as his guardian, during the temporary 
absence of both the Friedman's. It requested this 
gentleman to permit Peter to stay at Tuscumbia as 
long as he should wish to do so ; and to send him back 
whenever he should be ready to return ; — as his labor 
could be made profitable on a steamboat, and his 
owner could also take better care of him if he had him 
near himself. 

Nothing of interest occurred on the homeward 
journey. The boat reached Tuscumbia Landing on 
the evening of the last day of August ; and early the 
next morning, Peter walked up to town. 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 267 

Many were the friendly greetings he received as he 
passed through the streets that day. Many questions 
were asked him concerning Mr. Friedman — his busi- 
ness prospects, etc. To all these Peter replied as he 
had been instructed. Mr. Friedman would be there 
before Christmas, and if Peter worked till that time on 
a steamboat, he should then come with him. Mr. 
Friedman said he could earn him more money upon a 
boat than any where else, and had promised to give 
him something for himself if he did well. 

Many gentlemen questioned him very closely re- 
specting the Free States ; how he liked Cincinnati, and 
whether he saw there any Abolitionists. 

His ideas of these " desperate characters" had been 
greatly modified during the week which he had spent 
among his relatives • but he answered in accordance 
with his old ideas — ideas which are carefully inculcated 
in the minds of slaves. He was "mighty skeered," 
he said, all the time he was in Cincinnati ; and did not 
dare to go out "after night." One night, he "reck- 
oned" he heard the "Abolitionists fjghtin' in the 
streets ;" but he was away up stairs, and " too badly 
skeered to come down." 

To all these questionings he answered as truly as he 
could, and keep his secret ; but they made him very 
uneasy. He saw that the moment he should speak a 
word in favor of the Free States, he would be sus- 
pected, and all his movements watched. Then, if the 
secret of his freedom should be discovered, his kind 
friend, the Jew, would be drawn into trouble, as the 
citizens would at once accuse him of sending back a 
free negro to poison the minds of the surrounding 
slaves. So he represented the black people of Cincin- 



268 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

nati as being wretchedly poor ; and the contrast which 
he drew between the laborers of that city, and the 
happier slaves by whom he was surrounded, would 
have delighted the author of the " South Side View." 

The same day on which Peter arrived in town, a 
letter came from Mr. Sloan, Principal of the Seminar}^. 
He was then spending the Summer vacation at the 
North ; and he wrote to request Peter to whitewash 
the Seminary, and to put the whole building in com- 
plete order, for as he intended to bring on a new corps 
of teachers, he wished to find the place prepared for 
their reception. 

This was most fortunate for Peter. He entered, at 
once, upon this work, and soon fell into the old chan- 
nel of promiscuous labors. His cheerfulness remained 
unchanged — indeed he was the same industrious, 
respectful, obedient servant ; and those of the Tus- 
cumbians who had most jealously watched his move- 
ments, at last decided that not even a trip to 
Cincinnati could spoil Uncle Peter — he had too much 
sense to be carried away with the folly of the Abo- 
litionists. 

The Saturday evening after his arrival in town, 
Peter rode out to Bainbridge. He would have gone 
sooner, for he was most impatient to see his beloved 
family ; but he had determined to resume his old 
habits, and to do nothing which could betray the least 
unusual excitement of his feelings. 

As he rode along the lonely road, his thoughts were 
busy. Only six weeks had passed since last he saw 
his dear ones, but even in that short time what a 
wealth of experience had he gained ! He had seen — 
had tasted — liberty ; — yet he could not enjoy it. He 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 269 

could never, indeed, be really free, while those lie 
loved so well were slaves. But how should he get 
them ? He knew not what course would be the best, 
but he knew how to trust in that Good Father, who 
had thus far prospered him in all his ways. He re- 
solved to work hard, and earn all he could, for what- 
ever plan he might adopt, money would never fail to 
be of use. 

But perhaps even now, and his thoughts grew sad, 
— some one of that little number had gone down to 
the grave. The sickly season was at its height ; and 
Death, within the last few weeks, had entered many a 
lowly cabin, and many a lofty hall. 

He hastened on, yet it was quite dark before he 
reached the plantation. He halted at the door of 
Vina's cabin, and glanced anxiously at the group 
within. They were all there. Vina was preparing to 
cook the supper, and the boys were busied in making 
a fire for her. Thank God ! they all lived ! 

His approach was not long unperceived. " Yes, it 
is. father !" burst at once from the lips of the two sons, 
and after the first joyful how'dy', they took his horse 
and led it away. 

" O Vina," whispered Peter, as he still held her by 
both her hands, u I've found all my people. I've seen 
my mother ! Yina, my mother's a livin', and I've got 
five brothers and three sisters !" 

Soon the boys came in, and then the history of the 
journey, with its glad results, was narrated to them 
all. How they marveled as he described to them the 
great cities through which he had passed, and all the 
new strange sights his eyes had seen! But still 
greater was their wonder at the story of their far-off 



270 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

kindred, to whom their father had come as from the 
dead. And then to think that father's people were all 
free ! Ah ! how the faint hopes they had cherished 
of joining their father, at some future day, in the 
happy home he would provide for them, away off 
where all were free — how these hopes grew and 
strengthened in their hearts till they could scarcely 
refrain from shouting them aloud ! Yet they were 
silent. All these bright visions of the coming joy 
they shut closely in from the curious eyes of their 
outside companions — in their mother's cabin only, and 
even there with caution might they give utterance to 
their joyful hopes. 

Peter's return caused much excitement among the 
slaves on the plantation. It was whispered around 
that he had been to Cincinnati, and they were all eager 
to learn what he saw there ; and how the people lived 
in a Free State. The mistress also questioned him 
concerning his new manner of life upon a steamboat — 
how he enjoyed it, etc. He replied, that he liked the 
business very well ; and that his master was very 
kind to him. 

" Mass'r Isaac says he'll buy my family, if I do well," 
added he, u do you reckon old Mass'r would sell 'em,. 
Ma'am ?" 

" I don't know," replied the lady, " he thinks a great 
deal of tnem all, and I reckon he would ask a high 
price for them. I don't believe less than three thou- 
sand dollars would buy them all, if indeed he would 
consent to let them go at all." 

To his wife and children Peter revealed all his plans 
for their redemption. He would work, he said, in 
Tuscumbia, till he had earned enough to bear his ex- 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 271 

penses back to Philadelphia. He dared not stay in 
Alabama longer than was necessary, for fear something 
might occur which would compel him to reveal his 
cherished secret. While there his liberty was all the 
time unsafe. 

On his return to the North, he intended to set 
diligently to work to earn money to buy his family ; 
and he hoped his brothers would be able to advance a 
part of the price. This could soon be refunded to 
them, when they were all free and able to work 
together. He mentioned to them, also, the suggestion 
which some of his friends had made with regard to 
sending a man to assist them to escape. " My people 
told me," said he, "that folks are runnin' away con- 
stant, and gwine to Canada, a place away to the North, 
where they never let the masters go to hunt them." 
But still there were so many chances for them to be 
taken and carried back before they could reach that 
distant haven, that he decidedly preferred to purchase 
them. Yet, "if they do send for you," said he, "you 
must be ready — and do the best you can." They were 
all willing to do whatever he thought best. The 
bright hope of freedom with their father illumined all 
the paths which Fancy painted in the future. 

Early on Monday morning, Peter returned to town, 
and resumed his accustomed labors. His first busi- 
ness was to put the Seminary in order, according to 
Mr. Sloan's request. His manners and appearance 
were all unchanged. He wore his blue jean rounda- 
bout and trousers ; and as he stood among the waiters 
in the dining-room of Mr. Home's hotel, none of the 



272 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

boarders dreamed that he was that despised and hated 
biped — " a free nigger." 

For two months and a half he remained in Tuscum- 
bia; and during that time he earned sixty dollars. 
Once in two weeks, as had been his custom for many 
years, he went to see his family. He would have gone 
every week, now that he was so soon to leave them, 
but he dreaded to excite observation by any change 
in his old habits ; and besides, he would have to hire 
a horse to ride, and that would diminish his gains. 

On Saturday, the ninth of November, Peter rode 
out to the plantation for his last visit. He had sold 
every article he possessed,- except his necessary cloth- 
mo-, and such articles as he knew would be useful to 
his family. With these last his horse was now loaded, 
and at sunset he rode up to the cabin door. 

His family were expecting him, and they knew this 
would be his last visit. Its hours were, therefore, 
doubly precious. Oh ! if they should be the last which 
the whole family might ever spend together ! 

He renewed his promise to buy them, if possible, 
and charged them to hold themselves ready. " Now, 
boys," said he, " you'd best not marry till you hear 
from me, for if I live, I will ■ get you all, sure. And 
be good and kind to your mother, for she'll have no 
one to take care of her now but you. Get every thing 
you can to make her comfortable ; — and you, Catha- 
rine, dont you do any thing that will make your 
mother ashamed of you, — for she has a heap of trouble, 
any how, and you all oughtent to give her no more. 
Behave yourselves well ; and then people will trust 
you, and you will be well thought of by every one." 



PETER'S FAREWELL VISIT TO ALABAMA. 273 

About five miles above Bainbridge, in the Muscle 
Shoals, is an island containing about two hundred 
acres, which belongs to Mr. McKiernan. Here young 
Peter and Levin were to be employed during the week ; 
and, as the cotton-picking season was then at its height, 
they were obliged to go with their week's allowance 
on Sunday evening, that no time might be lost on 
Monday. 

After the boys had gone, Peter's friends — and he 
had many on the place — all called to say, " Good bye," 
till Christmas ; when they expected he would come, 
as usual, to spend the Holidays. 

These partings over, he was left alone with his wife 
and daughter. Poor Yina! she possessed not the 
buoyant hopes that filled her children's hearts — she 
was not so young as they ; — and though she lacked 
not confidence in her husband's truth, yet she could 
not quell the fear that this was the last evening they 
should ever spend together. She selected from her 
simple wardrobe two or three articles of clothing which 
he had been accustomed to see her wear, and gave 
them to him. " When you want to see something 
that looks like me," said she, "you can look at these 
yer. They'll make you think of Vina." 

Monday morning came, and Yina and Catharine 
must go early to the field, while the husband and 
father was forced to return to town to complete the 
arrangements for his final departure. They all arose 
at dawn and in the dim morning twilight — they 
parted. 

Peter lingered a moment at the cabin door. How 
could he say "Good bye!" There stood his wife and 
daughter — and great tears were in their eyes. How 
12* 



274 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

gladly would he shield them from every breath of 
sorrow ! — but now he could not stay. Once more he 
kissed them both — ah ! was it for the last time ? He 
could not speak, but with one long pressure of their 
hands, he tore himself away, and mounted his horse, 
which stood already at the door. 

How the sobbings of these loved ones resounded 
in the depths of his fond heart ! For a moment he 
almost wished he had not thought of becoming free ; 
but then the great glad hope of saving them returned, 
and he rejoiced that he had power to make the effort. 

Heavy were the hearts of the mother and her chil- 
dren, as they traversed the long cotton rows that day ; 
but their fingers must needs be light. The overseer's 
whip takes no note of aching hearts. The baskets 
must be filled. 

The light of hope soon returned to her children's 
eyes, but Vina was still in darkness. Accustomed to 
the helplessness of slavery, she could not realize that 
it was possible for her husband to be safe, " 'way 
off yon' by himself, without anybody to take care of 
him." 

The next Wednesday morning, November 13th, Mr. 
Alexander, to whose guardianship Peter had been con- 
signed by Mr. Friedman, placed him on board the stage 
for Eastport, a small town at the foot of Colbert's 
Shoals, about thirty miles below Tuscumbia. (The 
water was, at this time, so low in the river, that boats 
could not pass these shoals.) Here he took passage 
on a small steamboat, with the Captain of which, Mr. 
George "Warren, he was acquainted. 

This boat, however, went no further than Paducah, 
at the mouth of the Tennessee, and there he was 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 275 

obliged to wait for a boat to ascend the Ohio. Soon 
one came along — a Cincinnati boat — bound homewards 
from St. Louis. 

Peter stepped on board and inquired for the Captain, 
while two boys from Captain Warren's boat were 
bringing on his trunk. The boat was again under way, 
before the Captain could be found. " Here," said the 
clerk, as at length his superior officer appeared, u this 
man wants to go to Cincinnati." 

" Why didn't you name it before ?" cried the Cap- 
tain in a passionate voice ; and, turning to the pilot, he 
ordered him to land and " set that fellow ashore." 
" But," said Peter, " I did inquire for the Captain — " 
" Never mind, never mind, step right off." 
" I have got a pass and other papers, and I want to 
go to Cincinnati, or leastways, to Louisville." 
" Never mind — step right off — step right off." 
Captain Warren seeing the distress of his humble 
friend, called out to the Commander of the Cincinnati 
boat — " It is all right — let the boy go. He has a pass, 
and everything regular." 

But the little great man was inflexible. " Step right 
off — step right off" — was his only answer; and Peter 
was obliged to go ashore and wait for another boat. 

This was Saturday evening, and here he remained 
till eleven o'clock on Sunday night, when Captain 
Francis' boat came down from Louisville. This was a 
Tennessee River Packet, but on account of the low 
water, she could not go up the river, and so made only 
short trips between Louisville and Paducah. Captain 
Francis having resided many years in Tuscumbia, 
knew Peter well, and therefore hesitated not to take 
him up the river on his boat. 



276 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

They reached Louisville on "Wednesday morning, 
and as he would have several hours before the Cincin- 
nati boat went out, he went to see Dr. Williamson 
Fisher, a son of his old master, John Fisher, of Lex- 
ington. 

This gentleman received his father's former slave 
with great kindness ; though he was so young when 
the two boys were sold to old Nattie Gist, that he 
scarcely remembered them. He had, however, in his 
possession the bill of sale which his father received at 
the time he bought them. 

This short visit was highly enjoyed by Peter. The 
days of his childhood came vividly to his recollection j 
and though they were not free from hardships, yet the 
sunshine of youthful hope had never ceased to gild their 
memory. What were the bufTetings he then received 
compared to the anguish which he had suffered in later 
years. As a " little negro" he rose each morning from 
his ample couch — the floor, with supple limbs, and 
heart unmindful of the old day's sorrows, and ate with 
a keen relish his homely breakfast of corn cake. He 
thought of his far-off mother, and longed to return to 
her — but his attention was easily diverted by surround- 
ing objects, and he was, after all, a merry child. 
During his manhood he had suffered few of the physi- 
cal ills of slavery — but the iron had entered his soul. 
He had seen his fellows crushed — his brother beaten, 
even by the master whom he loved, because he could 
not stifle the pure affections of his heart ; his own 
loved wife had been insulted — and well nigh murdered, 
because she would not submit to the vile wishes of a 
remorseless ruffian ; and yet he had not dared to raise 
his voice, or lift his own right arm in their defence. 



peter's farewell visit to Alabama. 277 

All these remniscences of other days crowded his 
memory as he stood in the presence of him who, when 
an infant in the cradle, was his "little master," and who 
had inherited from his father the price of his young 
nerves and sinews. And then came the sweet thought, 
that by his own exertions, through the blessing of that 
Father who had never yet forsaken him, he was no 
more a slave. 

Dr. Fisher gave him much information concerning 
his early companions in Lexington ; from many of 
whom he had not heard since he left there in his youth ; 
but before he was half satisfied with listening to these 
interesting details, his time was spent, and he was 
forced to leave. 

He next went in search of a young Mr. Johnson, 
from Tuscumbia, to whom Mr. Alexander had sent a 
letter bespeaking his assistance, if necessary, in procur- 
ing a passage for the bearer to Cincinnati. This gen- 
tleman was pursuing the study of medicine in Louis- 
ville ; and Peter went to the Medical College, and to 
various other places in the city, but failed to find him. 
He was now at a loss what to do, for he had learned 
from his experience at Paducah how little favor his 
pass would gain from the Captains of the Cincinnati 
boats. 

He walked down to the wharf, and the first man he 
met there was a young Mr. McFarland, from Tuscum- 
bia, who had formerly been clerk on Captain Francis' 
boat. Mr. O'Eeilly of the Telegraph was also there, 
and he immediately recognized Peter, having em- 
ployed him during the time he spent in Tuscumbia to 
take care of his office. These two gentlemen kindly 
procured a passage for him on the boat to Cincinnati, 



278 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

and with many thanks for their friendly assistance, he 
went on board. 

He had now bid a final adieu to slave-land, still his 
heart was not at rest. For himself he had little fear. 
His free papars were safe, and he was at length beyond 
the necessity of affecting any relationship to slavery. 
But his family — ah ! when he thought how long a time 
might pass before they could be loosed from bondage, 
he could only trust in the power above, and pray for 
patience. 

He was disappointed in his hope of finding Mr. 
Friedman in Cincinnati, he having gone to Illinois. 
Peter therefore hastened on to Pittsburg, and thence to 
Philadelphia. His free papers he carried in his pocket, 
but as no zealous negro-catcher chanced to fix upon 
him his greedy eye, he had no need to show them on 
the way. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



THE ESCAPE. 



Late at night, on the thirtieth of November, Peter 
reached his brother's house in Philadelphia. He 
trembled not now, as when at first his feet approached 
his kinsman's threshold. A sense of personal security 
rested upon his heart, and the light of quiet happiness 
beamed from his smiling face. 

During the few days which he spent with his brother 
William, the idea of sending a man to rescue his family 
was again suggested. Many of his brother's friends 
were earnest advocates of such a plan. It would take 
too long to raise the sum requisite to purchase them, 
and besides, the offering of money for their ransom 
would in some sense recognize the right of the slave- 
holder to claim property in human flesh. " We are 
anxious," they said, " to aid your loved ones in 
escaping from bondage, but we cannot bear to give 
gold to him who has so long defrauded the helpless 
laborers' of their hire." 

To all these arguments of his friends, Peter opposed 
the dangers of their scheme. It would, he said, be 
very difficult for them to escape ; and then, if they 
should be pursued and taken, the sufferings of their 
whole past lives were nothing to the punishment they 

[279] 



280 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

might receive. And worst of all, they might be sold ; 
and then all chance of getting them would be for ever 
lost. 

But those to whose proposal he objected were edu- 
cated men, while he was but a poor emancipated slave, 
who never in his life had read a book — and their per- 
suasions triumphed. He described to them, though 
with reluctance, the location of the premises where his 
family might be found, and also the persons of his wife 
and children. 

He then left these friends to mature their plan, while 
he went to visit his mother. He was deeply anxious 
concerning the result of the deliberations then going 
on in Philadelphia, for he could not yet give up the 
idea which he had so long cherished — that of attempt- 
ing the purchase of those whose safety he prized above 
all other objects. 

Many people in the vicinity of his mother's home 
had heard of the return of the long-lost son and 
brother, and now, when they learned his anxiety to re- 
deem his family they kindly volunteered to aid him. 
He accepted with a grateful heart the contributions 
which they offered, though how they could be made 
available was still a question. 

When he had been two weeks in New Jersey, he re- 
ceived a letter requesting his immediate return to 
Philadelphia, and he hasted to obey the summons. 
He had already received one hundred dollars as the 
beginning of a fund " to ransom those he loved, and 
that he took with him to the city. 

During his absence, a man named Seth Concklin, 
who had heard of his case, had offered to go to Ala- 
bama, and bring his wife and children. He asked no 



THE ESCAPE. 281 

further equipment for the journey than sufficient 
money to defray his necessary expenses, and some 
sign whereby the family would recognize him as a 
friend. 

Peter's heart trembled. To the proposal of his 
friends he had assented; but then it was indefinite, 
and he doubted the possibility of their finding a man 
who would face the dangers of such an undertaking. 
He had all the time cherished a secret hope that they 
would yet abandon this project, and aid him in accom- 
plishing the plan which he so much preferred. Not 
that he thought it would be unjust or wrong to aid 
them to escape. Ah, no ! He had never yet become 
so thoroughly enslaved in spirit as for a moment to re- 
cognize the right of man to hold his brother man in 
bonds ; but merely as a matter of policy he had chosen 
to purchase their freedom — though to do so would cost 
him both toil and patience. 

Now, however, the scheme was all arranged, and 
these good friends had manifested so warm an interest 
in promoting his happiness that he could not refuse 
them all the aid which it was in his power to give. 

He accordingly gave Concklin an accurate descrip- 
tion of Mr. McKiernan's place, with directions con- 
cerning the best methods of approaching it. He told 
him also the names and ages of his family ; and gave 
him a cape of Vina's — one of the articles of dress which 
she had given him as a keepsake. " When she sees 
this," said he, " she will know that you are a friend; 
but jDlease, sir, be careful and don't get 'em into 
trouble. It '11 go mighty hard with 'em if they try to 
run off, and Mr. McKiernan cotches 'em." 

The one hundred dollars which Peter had received 



282 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

in New Jersey was now devoted to defraying the cost 
of this expedition, and early in January, all the 
arrangements having been completed, Concklin enter- 
ed upon his perilous undertaking. 

We subjoin the account which is given by Rev. Dr. 
Furness, of Concklin's introduction to the friends of 
the slave in Philadelphia, and also of the first steps that 
were taken in this daring enterprise. 

" Of this remarkable person, whose history, and 
heroic tragedy, must not be suffered to die, but very 
little was known at that time. He was not a member 
of any Abolition Society, nor was it known that he 
had any fixed residence. A man, plainly dressed, and 
slightly built, but evidently active and vigorous, with 
a face expressive of great decision, had come occasion- 
ally to the Anti-Slavery Office in Philadelphia, to in- 
quire about Mr. Chaplin, then in prison in Maryland, 
for aiding certain slaves in an attempt to escape from 
the District of Columbia. The stranger manifested a 
deep interest in Mr. Chaplin's fate, contributed a small 
sum monthly to the Chaplin fund, and on one occasion 
produced a statement in writing of a plan, which he 
had devised, subject to the approval of Mr. Chaplin's 
friends, whereby he offered to go to Maryland, liberate 
Mr. Chaplin, and bring him safely into the Free States ; 
requiring only a moderate sum to defray his expenses. 
The scheme was striking for its boldness and sagacity, 
but all participation in it was declined by the agents 
of the Anti-Slavery Society, on the obvious ground 
that it was not by such methods that they were seek- 
ing the Abolition of Slavery. (It is not an object of 
the Society to assist, directly or indirectly, in the ab- 



THE ESCAPE. 283 

duction of slaves.) The proposals, however, on the 
part of Mr. Concklin, served to show the character of 
the man. It was made apparent that he was an Abo- 
litionist on his own account. He was understood to 
be one of those few men in whom the hatred of slavery 
has become a ruling passion. He was a whole Aboli- 
tion Society in himself; with very limited pecuniary 
means indeed, but with what is infinitely better than 
uncounted gold, a single and commanding purpose, 
which danger could not shake, but only animate. His 
subsequent history, and all that was afterwards ascer- 
tained of his previous life, only corroborated the im- 
pressions received of his character upon the occasions 
of these visits to the Anti-Slavery Office. He was a 
man whose constitutional love of adventure, exercised 
from early boyhood by a series of privations and 
trials that would have broken down any ordinary man, 
had come to be consecrated to the knightly office of 
succoring the miserable ; and especially the enslaved, 
as of all men -the most to be commiserated. In con- 
trast with his tried heroism, the wordy chivalry of 
the South shows as rags and tinsel. 

" As soon as he was informed of the condition of 
Peter's family, he offered, with the help of a small 
sum to defray his travelling expenses, to go to Ala- 
bama, and bring them into the free State of Pennsyl- 
vania. He asked for no companion, and no compen- 
sation ; only for the means of paying the expenses of 
the journey, and for credentials to satisfy Peter's wife 
that he came from her husband. 

" A daring enterprise, indeed I It is not easy to 
conceive of an undertaking more hazardous, or one 
that more peremptorily demanded, in him who should 



284 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

attempt it, all the qualities that give the world assur- 
ance of a man. 

" The plantation that Seth Conklin was to reach lay 
in the north-western part of Alabama, eight hundred 
miles from Cincinnati. He was to traverse two slave 
States — Kentucky and Tennessee. To penetrate thus 
deep into slave-land, at a time when the ferocity and 
the fear that guard it had been startled from their long 
slumber by the far-off coming of the step of doom, for 
the purpose of plucking therefrom a poor bondwoman 
and her children, outdoes all the fabled feats of old 
knighthood. 

" Our hero took with him neither pistol nor bowie- 
knife, although he knew how to use them, for, as 
has since been learned, he had been a soldier. * He 
should be tempted to use them,' he said, ' and then he 
should be sure to be overborne.' 

" His first object was to explore the route, to dis- 
cover safe hiding-places, and to ascertain who in the 
border free States would be willing to befriend and 
aid him, when he should have succeeded — if he should 
succeed — in escaping Avith his protegees from the slave 
States. At Cincinnati, he met with devoted friends, 
who appreciated all the hazards of the attempt. But 
he soon ascertained that his perils would be far from 
being at an end when he should have got, on his re- 
turn, beyond the limits of Kentucky. Indeed, when 
he entered the slave States, it was under the impres- 
sion that the chief hazard of the undertaking, as the 
result most fearfully proved, would be encountered in 
the bordering free States. In seeking to provide 
places of refuge in Illinois and Indiana, he found the 
southern boundaries of these States, free as they claim 



THE ESCAPE. 285 

to be, infested with men thirsting for the rewards 
offered to those who are willing to cast aside their 
humanity, and do the work of bloodhounds — hunting 
the outcast, and seeking; and dragging back the fugi- 
tive. ' Searching the country opposite Paducah, Ky., 
I found,' he wrote, in a letter dated Eastport. Miss., 
Feb. 3d, 'the whole country, fifty miles around, is 
inhabited by Christian wolves. It is customary, when 
a strange negro is seen, for any white man to seize 
him, and convey him through and out of the State of 
Illinois to Paducah, and lodge such stranger in Padu- 
cah jail, and then claim such reward as may be offered 
by the master.' 

" Failing in the attempt to secure friends on the 
borders of Illinois, to meet him upon his return, yet, 
trusting, nevertheless, to his own address, and to a 
good Providence, he crossed to Paducah, and took a 
steamboat on the Tennessee river for South Florence, 
the final point of his journey. This was a little town, 
four hundred miles up the river, containing about 
twenty families, and a post-office, but no school!" 

This place he reached on the twenty -eighth of Jan- 
uary, having been four days coming up the Ten- 
nessee. 

Soon after his arrival at South Florence, Concklin 
made his way to the plantation of Mr. McKiernan, 
and succeeded in obtaining an interview with Yin a. 
It was a cold, dark night. Trembling, the faithful 
wife went forth from her cabin to the place where it 
had been intimated to her she should hear from her 
husband. Every few steps she stopped and listened, 
for fear some curious neighbor had watched her exit, 



286 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

and would follow her, or — what was worse — report 
her absence to the overseer. And then she grew 
afraid to venture forward, lest some trap were laid for 
her unwary feet. 

At last, however, the thought of Peter, and the 
hope of hearing of his welfare, conquered all her fears, 
and she walked on. Soon she discerned a figure at a 
little distance, but the darkness was so intense that she 
could not tell whether it was friend or foe. She 
paused. "Is your name Vina?" said a strange voice. 

" Yes, sir," she whispered. 

" Are you Peter Friedman's wife ?" 

14 Yes, sir, I's his wife." 

" How would you like to go to him ?" 

44 I'd like it mons's well, sir, if I could git thar." 

44 Well, I have come on purpose to take you to see 
him. Do you believe me ?" 

44 1 don't know, sir." 

41 Can you see me, so as to know me if you should 
meet me again ?" 

"No, sir, it's so dark ; I can't see your face good." 

He held up one hand. " Do you see my hand ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, if you see me again, you will know me by 
that hand. You see that half the forefinger is cut off?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" Do you believe that I came from Peter ?" 

" I don't know, sir." 

He drew forth from his pocket the gingham cape 
which Peter had given him as a sign. She could see 
its form, and she recognized it in a moment. That 
moment her doubts of his sincerity were gone. 

Yet she hesitated. She well knew the difficulties 



THE ESCAPE. 287 

and dangers that would attend an effort to escape ; 
especially when a family of four should make the 
attempt together ; and nothing but her deep love for 
her husband, and her faith in his discretion could have 
tempted her to dare it. " But," thought she, " he never 
would 'a'sent a man 'way here to help us if he didn't 
think we mought git off. Leastways we'll try. He 
knows best what we can do, for he's done took the 
journey twice." 

" When does you want us to go ?" said she aloud. 

" Just as soon as you can get ready. How long will 
it take you, do you think?" 

" I don't know, Sir. I don't believe we could git 
ready short o' four weeks." 

" Well, I can wait. I must go back to Louisville to 
do some business before I take you on. But I want 
first to see the boys, where are they ?" 

"Oh, they're off on the Island, they won't come 
home 'fore Saturday night." 

11 Well, you tell them to come down to the land- 
ing on Sunday. I will be there walking about, and 
if I see two young men, I will keep this hand in 
sight. You describe it to them, that they will know 
me. Now, good bye. Don't be afraid. I will do all 
I can for you, but you must help yourselves." 

Vina returned to her cabin. Her heart was full. 
One moment the hope was strong within her that they 
should all escape in safety. She saw the face of her 
husband, she listened to his voice ; again she heard the 
fierce pursuer on her track, and felt herself dragged 
back to meet a tenfold darker doom than she had yet 
encountered. " I couldrC Var" she says, "the idea of 
totirC a scabby back from one year to another, and some- 



288 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE PwANSOMED. 

times, 'peard like I couldn't tell whether to go or not. 
One mind say, yes, and t'other mind say, no, but at 
last I des' thought I would start, any how, whether I 
prevailed or not. 

The next Sunday, Peter and Levin walked down 
towards the river, and when about half-way to the 
landing, they met a stranger. He wore an old pair of 
low quarter shoes without stockings, and his pantaloons 
were rolled up half-way to the knee. Altogether his 
appearance was that of the " poor white men," who 
inhabit the mountainous districts back of the rich plan- 
tations. As he approached they noticed the mutilated 
finger, but they did not speak, they would not appear 
too hasty. 

The stranger stopped. " Do you know me ?" said he. 

"No, Sir." 

" Did you ever see me before ?" 

"No, Sir." 

"Your name is Peter, is it not?" said he, addressing 
the oldest. 

'"Yes, Sir." 

" And yours is Levin ?" 

" Yes, Sir, but how did you know it ?" 

" I know you by your resemblance to your father." 

" Where did you see our father ?" 

" I saw him only once, in Philadelphia." 

They then turned aside into the woods, and there, 
seated upon a log, they held a long consultation con- 
cerning the best means of escape. Concklin told them 
all his plans, and listened patiently to their suggestions, 
and then, lest some wanderer in the woods should dis- 
cover them in council, they separated. 

The next Wednesday the stranger left the neighbor- 



THE ESCAPE. 289 

hood on board the boat for Louisville. On the same 
boat Mr. McKiernan started for his usual annual visit to 
New Orleans ; but as Concklin appeared in humble garb, 
and neither drank nor gambled, he came into no contact 
with the planter. 

This trip down the Tennessee confirmed Concklin in 
the opinion he had already formed — that it would be 
unsafe to depend upon escaping with his poor helpless 
friends upon a steamboat. He procured a skiff, and 
early in March he returned, having made all possible 
arrangements for their speedy transport beyond the 
bounds of slavery's domain. 

For two weeks he was obliged to wait for them to 
complete their preparations, or rather, for an opportunity 
for the whole family to leave the place without exciting 
suspicion. At last, on Saturday night, the boys ob- 
tained of the overseer passes to go to South Florence 
on Sunday, to buy sugar and coffee for their mother. 
Vina and her daughter also procured passes to go to 
Mrs. Jackson's, a few miles distant, where they were 
to remain until the boys returned. They asked for the 
passes at night in order, as they said, that they might 
start soon in the morning, and get to Mrs. Jackson's 
before breakfast. 

When all was still throughout the quarter — and "it 
seemed that night as though some of the people never 
would go to bed," the little family went out into the 
night. Vina locked the door, and gave the key to a 
young girl named Susanna, desiring her to go in and 
prepare supper for them the next evening. 

The mother and her children walked away in silence, 
and at first with stealthy steps. Their hearts quaked 
with fear, but they had gone too far to recede. Chok- 
13 



290 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

ing down the sobs that strove to break the midnight 
silence, they pressed each other's hands to renew their 
courage, and hastened on. 

The clear sky hovered lovingly over the trembling 
fugitives, the stars, all silent, shone upon their path- 
way ; but they saw neither sky nor stars, one faint dim 
hope beamed on them from afar, but the thick clouds 
of terror often obscured its light. 

"With timid steps they approached the river, and 
walking along the bank, they soon descried the skiff. 
Levin whistled. No answer. Could it be that Conck- 
lin had disappointed them ? 

They turned and walked down the stream thinking 
perhaps he had gone in search of them. " Thar!" said 
the mother, "this yer jaunt's a gwine to turn out bad, 
for nobody has good luck when they turns back after 
they's started on a long journey." Failing to perceive 
the object of their search in this direction, they returned 
to the skiff, and stooping down, saw Concklin lying 
fast asleep in the bottom. He had waited for them till 
he was weary, and Levin's timid whistle had failed to 
waken him from his first sound slumber. 

It was now nearly three o'clock, and entering the 
skiff, they hastened off. The two boys, as well as 
Conklin, knew how to use the oars with skill and 
power, and they fairly flew over the water. 

At daylight they passed Eastport, distant about forty 
miles from Bainbridge Landing. Just below that town 
they met a steamboat, but by the direction of a kind 
Providence, she kept on the south side of a small 
island in the river, while Concklin guided his skiff 
towards the north bank, and thus they escaped the 
notice of the crew. Upon that boat was Mr. McKier- 



THE ESCAPE. 291 

nan, then on his return from Louisiana ; and had the 
skiff been noticed, he might easily have recognized 
the two boys, who were both at the oars. 

"During Sunday," wrote Concklin to a friend, "we 
were hailed once by half a dozen men on shore, to 
know where we were from, where going, &c. There 
being a strong head- wind, I appeared as if I could not 
hear them. I know not what they would have done 
if they had had a good skiff. Several parties of men 
gazed at us along the river. I had previously informed 
myself of the scarcity of good skiffs on the Tennessee 
river, on which thing alone rested a part of my safety. 
I stood at the helm whenever we were in sight of any- 
body, keeping Levin and Peter at the oars. At all 
other times, and during the nights, I was principally at 
the oars. In the daytime I caused Yina and Catharine 
to lie under the blankets, so as not to be seen. They 
had a hard time of it. Having a strong head-wind, the 
water dashed into the boat, so as to keep the blankets 
all the time wet. Peter and Levin got sleepy Sunday 
evening, and were so by times all the way through. 

" At five o'clock, Monday evening, for the first time, 
I lay down under a blanket, when the boys said two 
men were calling to us in a skiff near the shore, and 
coming towards us. I ordered that no effort should 
be made to run. The two men came alongside, eagerly 
demanding where they were going, and \ whar from ? 
Are you all black men a'board?' My boys replied in 
Southern phrase, ' White Massa lyin' thar, sir. When 
I arose on my knees, partly throwing off my blanket, 
and staring my assailants in the face, they bowed, with 
' How de do, sir.' I returned the compliment. They 
demanded where I was going, and from whence I came. 



292 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

I dignifiedly replied, ' To Paducah, and from Eastport.' 
They bowed, gave my boat a scrutinizing look, and 
retired. 

" During Monday niglit a squall of wind came near 
dashing our craft to pieces against the large trees, but 
by good management I succeeded in getting between 
the trees to the shore, and there remained one hour 
before we could start. Arrived on the Ohio at sunrise 
Tuesday morning — fifty-one hours time. It should 
have been done, under favorable circumstances in 
thirty-six hours. The current of the Tennessee is very 
stiff. On the Ohio I intended to travel exclusively 
at nights. Circumstances were against me, and I was 
compelled to travel as much by day as by night. One 
half of two nights it was so dark, that I could not 
navigate. My crew murmured in consequence of the 
hardships. They did not seem to understand that they 
were to work for themselves and for their lives. I had 
no fair wind from the time I started till I arrived at 
Harmony. It would be impossible to describe the 
difficulties I have encountered." 

At ten o'clock on Sunday morning March 23d, they 
landed at New Harmony, la. Seven days they had 
rowed in that frail skiff, exposed each moment to the 
danger of discovery and seizure by some one of Slavery's 
numerous spies. Seven nights had chilled their limbs, 
and Avell nigh exhausted their energies, both of mind 
and body, for except the mother, they were all unused 
to patient labors. Theirs had been years of toil without 
an object, and they were at this time scarcely capable 
of self-imposed endurance of fatigue. 

Now, although their feet pressed the soil of a Free 
State, their perils were not passed, and they pursued 



• THE ESCAPE. 293 

their way on foot towards the North with anxious 
hearts. 

Concklin, who had assumed the name of Miller, had 
doffed the shabby garb which he had worn before, and 
now appeared neatly and comfortably clad. The boys 
wore pants of Kentucky jean and black cloth coats, 
while Vina and her daughter in their plaid shawls and 
comfortable hoods would scarcely have been recog- 
nized, even by those who had often seen them at their 
labor, as field hands from McKiernan's place. 

All day they travelled on the public road; and 
though they "met a heap of people," they were not 
questioned. There was nothing, indeed, in their ap- 
pearance to excite remark, except that they were dark 
in hue and journeying towards the North. At night 
they reached the house of a friend, where they were 
received most kindly. A bountiful supper was quickly 
prepared for them, and they soon lay down to peace- 
ful slumbers. All the next day, too, they rested, for 
in their future journeyings, it was deemed wisest to 
accept the friendly guidance of the stars. 

After supper on Monday night came another friend 
to carry them northward to his home. He brought 
two horses which the women rode ; while himself and 
Concklin, with the two re-animated brothers, walked 
beside them. At three o'clock on Tuesday morning 
they reached their second resting place, where they 
remained till Wednesday night. They then resumed 
their journey, and travelled all night on foot. Cheer- 
fully they walked along, for every hour their hope 
became stronger as their old master's success in over- 
taking them grew more and more improbable. At 
late breakfast time on Thursday they reached another 



294 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

station, where they rested till Friday morning. They 
were then so far from the river that Concklin thought 
they might venture to travel in the day-time, so he 
proposed to continue their journey. But Vina had 
awaked that morning with a burdened spirit. She 
"had bad dreams all night," and she feared to start by 
daylight. '"Pears like," said she, "something will 
happen if we starts to-day. You can do as you likes, 
sir, but if I was you, I'd put off this yer jaunt till 
night. Tears like 'taint safe, no how." But Concklin 
was naturally hopeful and bold, and the presentiments 
of the ignorant slave woman he regarded as mere idle 
superstition. They were so nearly out of danger, that 
he felt extremely anxious to push on. 

Vina started with reluctance. The kind friend at 
whose house they were, lent her a horse for a few 
miles, and sent his son to ride the animal back. Soon 
the rain began to fall, and all clay long "it rained 
constant." All day, too, they journeyed on, for they 
dared not stop where they were not sure of finding 
friends. 

Late in the afternoon, as with dripping umbrellas 
and weary feet they walked along, a spotted horse 
which had escaped from a field by the road side, came 
galloping before them. His owner called upon the 
travellers to stop him, but "Vina, in a low tone, bade 
the boys go on. Peter, however, naturally obliging, 
caught the horse, and delivered him to his owner. A 
little further on they passed a saw-mill, in front of 
which a large man stood gazing at the little company. 
"How d'y', Aunt Lucy," cried he, "which way are 
you travelling?" No answer was given as they hastened 
on, but their hearts beat quick with fear. 



THE ESCAPE. 295 

Just before night they approached the dwelling of 
the friend where they were next to rest. His son 
lived in a small house close by, and here Concklin bade 
them " run in out of the rain," while he went on to 
the main station to announce their coming. 

They obeyed, and soon they were all seated beside 
a cheerful fire. The bright blaze imparted new life to 
their chilled and weary limbs ; and from their hearts 
ascended a silent thanksgiving to Him who had 
brought them safely to the end of this day's journey, 

when suddenly the sound of many horses' feet was 

heard. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 
THE CAPTURE. 

One glance at the window sent a shudder through 
the little party — for there, halting at the gate, were 
seven men on horseback. 

" They done come after us ;" hoarsely whispered one 
of the boys. 

" Yes," answered their mother, " I'll lay anything 
we're gwine to be tooken now." 

The men dismounted and tied their horses to the 
fence. Foremost was the owner of the spotted horse, 
upon the very animal which Peter had delivered into 
his hand, and next was he who had accosted u Aunt 
Lucy 11 but an hour or two before. 

What to do the helpless creatures did not know. 
Concklin was away. Oh ! why did he leave them ? 
The house was small, and the only place of egress 
they could discover was the door by which they had 
just entered, and this their foes were even then ap- 
proaching. They saw no place to hide, and the young 
man and woman, whose house they had so recently 
entered, stood petrified with amazement, and gazed 
upon the scene. 

The seven men entered the little dwelling. Three or 
four of them remained near the door, while the others 
advanced into the middle of the room and opened a 

C296] 



THE CAPTURE. 297 

conversation with the boys. The heart beat wildly 
beneath each dark-hued breast, but they strove to look 
indifferent while they replied to the questioners as 
they had been previously instructed. 

" Where are you going ?" 

" To Springfield, Sir." 

" Do you belong to the man that brought you here ?" 

" Yes, Sir." 

" Where did you come from ?" 

" From Kaintucky, Sir. Mass'r died last year, and 
left us to his brother, and now he's a takin' us on to 
his farm." 

" What did he bring you through here for ? Did n't 
he know that it was against the law ?" 

" Don't know, Sir, reckon he 'lowed 'twas right." 
" I'll be d— d if I don't believe he stole you all." 
The brave seven then stood aside and consulted for a 
few minutes, and then one of their number went out. 
Soon he returned with a half-gallon jug of liquor, and 
a wagon. The besieging party then took a drink all 
round to raise their courage. They offered, too, to 
treat Levin and Peter, but the boys declined the honor. 
Another brief consultation was held, and then, pro- 
ducing ropes, these zealous priests of the Moloch of 
Slavery, proceeded to bind their victims for the sacri- 
fice. How the boys longed to resist !— but they were 
all unarmed, while their assailants carried both bowie- 
knives and pistols. Besides, their host, who stood 
silent by, would, for aught they knew, join with their 
enemies against them. It would be idle to attempt to 
fight against such fearful odds ; so they stood still while 
their hands were tied behind them, and 'then, obeying 
13* 



298 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

the orders of the foreman of the band, they climbed 
into the wagon. 

The women followed in silence. Despair was writ- 
ten on their faces, but their captors had no pity for their 
helpless woe. The coarse jest, and the blasphemons 
oath went round, while now and then a burst of bois- 
terous laughter came from the " law-abiding" band that 
guarded their return towards the "land of chivalry." 

"When they had proceeded a short distance, Conck- 
lin came running after them. Oh ! that he had never 
left them ! then had they been safe. He sprang into 
the wagon, aud commenced untying the captives. But 
he was soon discovered by the ruffians in attendance, 
who, pointing their pistols at his head, swore that they 
would blow out his brains if he did not desist. 

He remained in the wagon, however, until they 
reached the jail at Yincennes. It was very late. The 
lights were extinguished in all the houses, and the 
jailor was asleep. " Ho ! Hallo !" cried the leader of 
the band. 

The jailor at length appeared. 

" Do you want some more stock ?" 

" I don't know ; that depends on what sort it is." 

" Well, its a sort you've not had here lately. Take 
them in ; they're tired, and want to go to bed." 

The jailor held up his light and took a survey of the 
captives. "Well," said he, "if they're tired, I don't 
think they're sleepy; say, are you sleepy, old woman ?" 

" No, Sir," replied Vina, "I don't feel like sleepin'." 

"So I thought ; I should'nt if I were in your 
place." 

After some further conversation with the chief of 



THE CAPTURE. 299 

the band, he took the prisoners in and locked them up. 
" But he acted," Yina says, "like he felt mighty sorry 
for us ; and I believe, if we had'nt been watched so 
close, he mought 'a' let us go." 

In the jail they were visited every day by Concklin, 
who came and talked with them through the window ; 
and daily Vina begged him to leave them there and 
seek his own safety. " Now you can't do us no good, 
Sir, no how, and 'pears like you best take care o'you- 
self." 

" Oh," replied he, " I don't feel at all uneasy." 

"Well, Sir, I feels oneasy about you, and you best 
not stay round yer no longer. It wont make it no 
better for us, and you'll git into trouble, sure." 

But some dream of rescuing them haunted his mind ; 
he could not bear to leave them. It was something 
new for him to be foiled in any undertaking ; and he 
had set his heart upon delivering this family to the 
husband and father, who he knew was waiting, with 
trembling heart, to welcome them. 

Immediately after lodging them in jail, the chief of 
the marauding band had telegraphed in all directions 
to ascertain if four negroes, answering the description 
of these had anywhere been missed ; and also what 
reward was offered for their capture. The " lightning 
postboy" hasted to execute their mission, and soon 
returned them answer. "Four likely negroes had 
been stolen from Bernard McKiernan, near South Flor- 
ence, Ala., and their owner had offered a reward of 
four hundred dollars for the property, and six hundred 
for the apprehension of the thief, and his delivery in 
South Florence." 



800 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Upon the receipt of this information, Concklin was 
seized, and thrust into prison. Still his brave hope- 
ful spirit bore him up — " 'peared like he couldn't feel 
discouraged." 

It was night ; and night in prison is never lovely. 
Catharine and her brothers were asleep,' but Vina's 
eyes closed not. Her thoughts were busy picturing the 
sorrows to which they were returning, the tortures 
that awaited them, and all the hopelessness of their 
future lives. Never more should the voice of her 
husband greet her ear — never more should his smiles 
gladden her heart. And her children — henceforth 
they would be branded as runaways, and thus exposed 
to grievous ills, to which, thus far, they had been 
strangers. No one would trust them now. 

Suddenly she started. Wheels approached, and 
stopped in front of the jail. Did she know that voice? 
Yes, she could not be mistaken. 

"I wish you would let me in. I would like to see 
them." 

She heard the jailor in reply, and soon footsteps ap- 
proached their cell. Yina roused her children. " We'll 
git toted back now. Old McKiernan's a comin.' He's 
a talkin' out yer." 

Soon the key turned in the lock, and the jailor 
entered with a light, followed by a stranger, and the 
"old master." His cane was in his hand — his face 
looked redder than usual, and his eyes hastily searched 
every part of the room. He approached the bed on 
which his slaves were still lying, and for a moment 
looked down on them in silence. 

" Ha ! boy, what are you doing here ?" said he to 
Peter. 



THE CAPTUKE. 301 

No answer. 

" Speak ! you rascal, or I'll knock you in the head 
with this stick. Don't you know me?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" Aint I your old master ?" 

Reluctantly Peter answered, " Yes, sir." 

"Didn't I raise you all?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, d — n you, what are you doing here ?" 

" Don't know, sir." 

"Don't know/ I'll make you tell a different tale 
from that when I get you home. You, Levin, don't 
you think this is a devil of a caper ?" 

Levin was silent, and the master turned to his mo- 
ther. "See here, girl, how came you to leave home?" 

No answer. 

"Aint it d — d astonishing you all can't answer 
when you're spoken to?" 

Still no answer came, and he turned to his com- 
panion. " Ah, that huzzy ! she's at the bottom of all 
this. If it hadn't been for her, and that rascal Peter, 
they never would have left me in the world." 

" What Peter is that?" asked the man. 

"Why, he is this girl's husband. He got in with a 
Jew, and persuaded him to buy him ; and a few months 
after that, Peter bought himself. This scrape was in 
the bargain at first, I'm certain." 

" Where are this Peter and his master now?" 

"I don't know exactly — but if they ever show their 
heads in Tuscumbia again, I'll have them hung sky- 
high. Peter is at the bottom of this ; but he never had 
sense to do it alone — he's had help, I'll swear. Some 
d — d abolitionist has had a hand in it. I believe there's 



302 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

some of them in Franklin county, and if I can hunt 
them out, they shall be burnt, or I'll have their heads 
— one." 

He then proceeded to question the family concern- 
ing their escape ; and to shield Concklin, they told a 
story which they had previously prepared for an emer- 
gency like this. They declared that Concklin, or as 
they called him, Miller, did not bring them away at 
first, but that four persons took them, and delivered 
them up to him. Who these persons were, they could 
not tell; but they described " some sort o' men that they 
had never seen. 1 ' "Yes, yes," said the master, "d — n 
them, Fve seen four such looking fellows in Tuscumbia." 

After a while he left them, and went into the next 
room, where Concklin was confined. There they 
heard his voice for a long time ; at first in moderate 
tones, but when his passion rose, his words could 
easily be distinguished. " It's d — d astonishing that 
you won't tell who- started you in this business. 
"Would you be such a fool as to be carried back in 
irons, and lose your life for the sake of saving other 
people?" 

" It is of no use for you to question me about them," 
replied Concklin. "You have me now, and it is not 
worth while to bring other people into trouble." 

"Well, d — n you, how do you feel in them irons?" 

" I suppose I feel better than you will at some future 
day in consequence of causing them to be put on me." 

"How is that?" 

"You will have plenty of time to find out." 

Finding that he could get no satisfactory answer 
from the " thief 1,1 he returned to the room where his 
property was confined. Here he remained about an 



THE CAPTURE. 303 

hour, alternately cursing and asking questions ; but he 
could not make them tell who started them on their 
way. At last he left them and went out. 

Early in the morning, he returned, and ordered 
them to get ready to go home. They rose immediately, 
but were scarcely ready when the stage came to the 
door. 

After they were seated in the coach, Concklin was 
brought out in irons, and put in with them. He still 
looked brave and cheerful ; but the slaves, alas ! there 
was. no light in their downcast eyes — no hope in their 
disappointed hearts. 

When the stage stopped to change horses, they 
alighted to take breakfast. They all sat down to- 
gether, but only the master and his companion* had 
appetites for food. Vina only drank a cup of coffee, 
and the boys ate very little. 

" Why don't you eat, girl?" demanded the master. 

"I don't keer 'bout eatin'," she replied. 

" Well, if you all had staid at home, you'd been able 
to eat." 

They were soon re-seated in the stage, and none of 
them left it again till after dark, when they reached 
Evansville. Here they spoke of putting the captives 
into jail for safe keeping ; but it was whispered that if 
they did so they might not find them in the morning ; 
and at last they took them to a private house, where, 
after giving them their supper, they locked them up 
all together in a room in the second story. The mas- 
ter of the house, who, they understood was a brother- 
in-law of their master's escort, sat all night on the 
stairs to watch them. 

* Emison. See Memoir of Concklin. 



304 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Concklin had now become alarmed, and during the 
night he was much excited. He tried the windows of 
the room, and was about to jump from one of them, 
when Yina interposed. "Oh!" said she, "don't go 
out thar'. You'll be dashed to pieces, sir, jumpin' out 
o' that ar high winder. Oh! if you had tuck my 
advice, and run off when they first cotch us, you'd 'a' 
been safe now, and it would n't 'a' been no worse for 
us." 

This was a gloomy night. None of the prisoners 
felt inclined to sleep. Liberty — the precious goal 
which they had almost grasped, was now beyond their 
reach — forever lost. " Well chillern," said the mother, 
" you all 's got to cotch it now. You wont be the best 
hands on the place no more, and everything 'at's done 
wrong '11 be laid to you. But it can't be hoped — we's 
done the best we could, and now the Lord's all the 
friend we got." 

Morning dawned at last, and after an early break- 
fast, Mr. McKiernan came with his attendant, Emison, 
to conduct them to the boat. 

How the sinews of Levin and Peter ached for a 
race ! If their mother and sister had been safe, would 
they have walked quietly down to the river, on whose 
bosom they were to be borne back to slavery ? No, 
no — they would at least have made one desperate effort 
to escape. But they could not desert those who were 
so dear to them ; and so they meekly followed their old 
master, while they knew his footsteps led to the scene 
of cruel torture — perhaps even to death. 

Once on board the boat — the " Paul Anderson," the 
negroes were deemed safe; still, whenever the boat 
landed they were closely watched. Concklin was kept 



THE CAPTURE. 305 

confined in a state-room, where his poor friends had 
no chance to speak to him. They lay at night upon 
the cabin floor, and the young people slept. Their 
mother, too, several times grew drowsy, but the horrid 
dreams that came soon frightened sleep away. She 
heard every footstep ; and towards morning, they were 
all aroused by people hurrying to and fro with lights, 
and calling to each other in every direction. The 
master came to Vina. "Where are the bovs?" said 
he. 

" Yon they lie, sir." 

" Well, that rascal's gone." 

" Is he ?" Such was her only answer ; but her heart 
beat quick with the hope that he had by some means, 
escaped in safety. The boat was searched in every 
part, but no trace of him was found. 

Early in the morning, Mr. McKiernan, with his 
property, landed at Paducah, to wait for the " Greek 
Slave," which was expected to pass that day on her 
home trip from Louisville. 

The mistress of the hotel where they stopped, took 
a great interest in the returning fugitives, and begged 
Mr. McKiernan to sell her the old woman and her 
daughter. He did not, however, seem anxious to dis- 
pose of them. 

"How would you like to live with me?" said the 
lady herself to Yina. 

"I don't know, ma'am; you mought be hard to 
please. I've had one hard missus, and I don't care 
'bout changin' for a worse one." 

"Well," said the lady, "I give you my word, I 
would be kind to you. You may ask any of my serv- 
ants if I am hard to be suited." 



306 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

But the old master listened with impatience to all 
her arguments. " I raised this family myself," said he, 
" and even if there is danger of their running off again, 
I may as well hold bad property as anybody else." 

Such was his usual feeling whenever any one pro- 
posed to purchase one of his people. He disliked to 
part with them ; not because he loved them — for we 
have seen that his heart knew no pity for their suffer- 
ings ; but they were his, and he would rather buy than 
sell. 

At about ten o'clock in the morning, the u Greek 
Slave" appeared, and the melancholy company were 
soon ascending the Tennessee. The lonely quiet banks 
looked gloomy to them now, notwithstanding the trees 
were clothed in their freshest green, and wild flowers 
of every form and hue were nodding to their lovely 
images in the bright water. There was no Spring-time 
in their hearts. Darkness, like the shadow of Death, 
hung over their spirits, while the bright sunshine and 
the glad notes of a thousand birds but mocked their 
misery. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 
PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 

As soon as Mr. Concklin left Philadelphia, Peter re- 
turned to his mother's house, and there remained, rest- 
less and anxious, for many weeks. At last his brother 
William, who had received a letter from Concklin, 
dated Princeton, la., March 24th, wrote to him that 
his family had arrived in a Free State. Immediately 
he hastened to Philadelphia, his heart swelling with 
the hope of soon embracing them ; but the day after 
his arrival, alas ! these glorious visions of approaching 
joy suddenly faded away. 

" O, Peter, said his sister Mary, as he entered the 
room where she was sitting, "have you heard the 
news ?" 

He noticed that her voice trembled, and that her 
eyes were filled with tears ; and his heart interpreted 
but too faithfully her emotion. Still he answered 
calmly, "No." 

" Sit down," said she, " and I will read it to you." 
She had the "Ledger" in her hand, and she read 
several extracts from Indiana papers, giving an account 
of the seizure of four slaves who had escaped from 
Bernard McKiernan, of South Florence, Ala., and 
also of a white man, calling himself Miller, who had 
them in charge. 

[307] 



308 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Peter listened in silence. "It is just what I ex- 
pected," said he in a hoarse voice, when she had 
finished, "just Avhat I told them all. Oh! if they had 
heard to me ! 

For a time he seemed discouraged. His thoughts 
followed the trembling fugitives on their return, and 
under every torture which he had been accustomed to 
see inflicted upon runaways, he fancied that his dear 
wife and children, even then, were groaning. 

A boy belonging to a pious man, near Tuscumbia — 
a class leader in the Methodist Church — was, at the 
time Peter came away, wearing a heavy iron collar 
upon his neck, and a band of the same metal around 
his body. A rod of iron was welded to each of these 
upon his back, and extended further above his head 
than his hands could reach. Eods of iron were also 
fastened to the collar on each side, and at the point of 
each shoulder they were bent up, and reached higher 
than his head. To the highest of these rods a bell 
was fastened, which tinkled constantly. In the morn- 
ing the boy was locked to the plough by a chain 
which was fastened to the band around his body, and 
thus he was obliged to plough till noon. The head- 
man then unlocked the chain, and led the mule away ; 
leaving his fellow-slave to follow to the house. All 
the long afternoon he was forced to plough in the same 
manner ; and at night, the head-man locked him in a 
cabin alone, and left him to cook his scanty supper 
and to get what rest his torturing irons would allow. 
For several months he had already worn these cruel 
badges of the runaway — and now the father shuddered, 
as in imagination he saw his own beloved sons endur- 
ing similar punishments. 



PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 309 

Another man, belonging to Mr. B , of Tuscum- 

bia, died not long before Peter left that town, from 
wearing an iron collar in hot weather. It rubbed the 
skin off the poor fellow's neck, but his master swore 
he should wear it till he died. Soon was his threat 
fulfilled, for the flesh mortified under the heated iron, 
and when the sufferer uttered his last groan, the inhu- 
man instrument was still upon his neck. 

He knew also that even the women on McKiernan's 
place had learned to wear the irons. Well he remem- 
bered Mary— a beautiful woman, and a special favorite 
with her master, as all the pretty women were. She 
had received so much abuse from her mistress that her 
life was hateful to her, and at last she resolved to 
escape, for a time at least, from her persecutions. Ac- 
cordingly she fled to the woods. The next Sunday 
morning the order was issued that no allowance should 
be given out till all the hands had been out to hunt 
Mary. Peter was there that day visiting his family, 
and as Vina was obliged to go, he joined the hunt' 
well knowing that such a course would gratify the 
master. They soon found her track, with here and 
there traces of corn and onions which had appeased 
her hunger. But few of the slaves, however, had any 
desire to find her, and those few were easily sent by 
the others in a wrong direction. When night came 
therefore, Mary had not been taken. All day they 
had rambled in the woods— fasting— except that some 
had now and then seized a roasting ear as they passed 
by a field of corn ; they were delighted therefore, 
when, as the shades of night approached, they were 
suffered to go home, and to receive their week's allow- 
ance. 



310 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

But notwithstanding the failure of this day's hunt, 
the search for Mary was at divers times repeated, and 
after having spent three or four months in the woods, 
she was brought in. Then came the punishment for 
her heinous crime. First, her master gave her a cruel 
beating, and then the overseer inflicted upon her 
naked back a like " correction ;" and after that, for a 
long time, she was daily stripped and beaten by her 
mistress's orders. This system was continued until 
she became so w r eak that they feared she would be 
" ruined" and then the irons were brought in requisi- 
tion. The collar was welded on her slender neck, and 
a heavy band of iron upon her ankle. To this latter, 
one end of a heavy log-chain was attached, the other 
end of which was brought up and locked round her 
waist. Month after month was the poor woman forced 
to wear these galling irons. Peter, himself, had often 
seen her coming from the field at night, " lookin' every 
minute like she would drop down to the ground with 
the weight of her shackles. She was raggetty and 
dirty too, for she hadn't no spirit left to wash and 
mend her clothes."* The image of this tortured wo- 
man would rise before him now — the clankinsr of her 
heavy chain would rack his ears. No wonder that he 



* Yina says, " Mary done took so much whippin' that the flesh 
between her shoulders inflames nigh 'bout every year, and the skin 
looks like a dry brown crust. Then they has to send for the 
doctor, and he takes out a strip o' flesh five or six inches long. 
After a while her back heals up again, and she gits well enough to 
work. They done quit 'busin' her now, and she works all the time 
in the field, 'cept they has a heap o' company, or there's some great 
hurry o' sewin' gwine on. Then they brings her in for she's a ele- 
gant seamster, and understands all sorts o' house service." 



PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 311 

could not rest, No wonder that all labor and priva- 
tion seemed as nothing if he could jet gain the ran- 
som of his loved ones. 

Peter started immediately for Cincinnati, in the hope 
of finding his late master, and obtaining his assistance 
in this, his pressing need. But he was disappointed. 
Mr. Isaac Friedman was still in Illinois. His brother 
Levi, however, warmly espoused his cause, and would 
have gone himself to Tuscumbia, to try what could be 
done for the relief of the family, had he not been 
kindly warned that such a step would be both haz- 
ardous and futile. A friend of his in Franklin 
county, wrote him. that the citizens of Tuscumbia 
were highly incensed against both his brother and 
Peter, as in consequence of what the latter had said 
to Mrs. McKiernan, concerning Mr. Friedman's partial 
promise to buy his family, they regarded them as in- 
stigators of the escape.* 

But this did not discourage the anxious husband 
and father. He had brought from Philadelphia a letter 

^ * That this feeling was not, however, quite universal among the 
citizens is evident from an incident which occurred on board the 
" Greek Slave," as she lay at Tuscumbia Landing, having on board 
the captured family. " Well, Old Woman," said a gentfeman from 
town, who came on board to see them, " are you sorry for running 
away ?" " No, Sir, I don't feel sorry ;" repiied Vina. " I think 
any person else would 'a' done like I have." " Yes, that's so," re- 
plied he, " I would have done the same thing myself. Peter is a 
good fellow too, and your master is an old rascal. Look here, if he 
takes a notion to sell you all, I'd like to buy you, for I believe 
you're an honest family, and I don't think the less of you for 
this." " I can't remember his name," said Vina, as she "related 
the incident, « but he spoke mons's kind, and he's as fine looking 
a man, nigh 'bout, as ever I see." 



312 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

of introduction to Levi Coffin, a worthy' Friend, resid- 
ing in Cincinnati. This he delivered, and Mr. Coffin 
soon made his case known to several benevolent gen- 
tlemen in town. One of these, Mr. Samuel Lewis, at 
Peter's request, addressed a letter to Mr. L. B. Thorn- 
ton, of Tuscumbia, requesting him to ascertain from 
Mr. McKiernan, whether or not he would sell the 
family, and at what price he valued them, and asking 
him to write the result of his inquiries to "William 
Still, of Philadelphia. (Mr. Thornton was a young 
man much esteemed — a Virginian, who had for some 
time taught the boy's school in Tuscumbia, while he 
pursued his law studies. Peter had often performed 
slight services for him, and always regarded him as 
one of his best friends.) 

One day during his stay in Cincinnati, as Peter was 
standing upon the sidewalk, striving in his own mind 
to devise some means to hasten the release from bond- 
age of those he loved, a pale lady, seated in a carriage, 
beckoned him towards her. He approached the car- 
riage, and the lady asked him if he would like em- 
ployment, and if he could drive. He replied in the 
affirmative, and was soon seated on the box. For 
several hours he drove her carriage about the city, and 
so kindly did she address him, that at last he told her 
all his grief. She listened with much interest to the 
story, and after expressing her sympathy with his sor- 
rows, she told him that her husband was a friend of the 
unfortunate, and that perhaps he could assist him in 
his efforts to buy his family. She accordingly directed 
him to her husband's office, and entering, he found 
himself in the presence of Hon. Salmon P. Chase. 

This good man, after hearing his simple tale, readily 



PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 313 

offered to do anything in his power to aid him. Peter 
then told him that to Mr. John Gist, of Kentucky, a 
brother of his former master, Mr. McKiernan was 
largely indebted; and that as he was an old servant 
of the family, he thought it possible that Mr. Gist 
would be able and willing to assist him in the purchase 
of his family. Before he left the office Mr. Chase wrote 
a letter to this gentleman, asking for information with 
regard to the best plan for getting the family and also 
it he could m any way aid the poor man in his efforts 
tor their purchase. 

From this letter Peter never heard, although he 
staid in Cincinnati more than three weeks after it was 
despatched. 

Towards the last of June, he returned with a heavy 
heart to his friends in New Jersey. He had done all 
he could, but nowhere could he discern a ray of hope 
Yet he could not be idle; and as it seemed useless at 
that time to attempt any further steps towards the ac- 
complishment of his one absorbing wish, he settled 
himself at service in Burlington, New Jersey 

His mistress, Mrs. Mary A. Buckman, treated him 
with uniform kindness, and with her aid and that of 
her two daughters, he commenced learning to read 
We have before related his resolute attempts to learn 
the mysteries of letters during his few visits to the 
Sabbath School in Lexington, but that was long- 
long years ago, and though he had then mastered °the 
wondrous alphabet, and even learned to spell a few 
little words, he had never, since that time, been able 
to make the least advance in erudition. But now when 
through the kindness of these ladies, he became able to 
read, though but imperfectly, the precious words of 
14 



314 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

the New Testament, lie felt that his arduous efforts to 
be free had not been all in vain. 

Sometime in the ensuing August came the following 
letter from Mr. McKiernan, to whom Mr. Thornton 
had referred the one which had been written to him 
from Cincinnati : 

" South Florence, Ala., 6th August, 1851. 
" MR. WILLAM STILL, NO. 31 NORTH FIFTH STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

" Sir a few days sine mr Lewis Thornton of Tus- 
cumbia Ala shewed me a letter dated 6 June 51 from 
Cincinnati synd samuel Lewis in behalf of a Negro man 
by the name of peter Gist who informed the writer 
of the Letter that you were his Brother & wished an 
answer to be directed to you as he peter would be in 
Philadelphia, the object of the letter was to purchis 
from me 4 Negroes that is peters "Wife & 3 children 2 
sons & 1 girl the Name of said Negroes are the woman 
viney the (mother) Eldest son peter 21 or 2 years old 
second son Leven 19 or 20 years 1 Girl about 13 or 14 
years old. the Husband and Father of these people 
once belonged to a relation of mine by the name of 
Gist now Decest & some few years sine he peter 
was sold to a man by the Name of Friedman who 
removed to Cincinnati ohio & Tuck peter with him of 
course peter became free by the voluntary act of the 
master some time last march a white man by the 
name of Miller apperd in the nabourhood & abducted 
the bove negoes was caute at vin canes Indi with said 
negroes & was thare convicted of steling & remanded 
back to Ala to Abide the penelty of the law & on his 
return met his j ust reward by Getting drownded at the 



PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 815 

mouth of Cumberland River on.the ohio in attempting 
to make his escape I recoverd & Braught Back said 

irfr eS ,?, raS Y ° UW0Uld sa y<*d people under 
the Belief that peter the Husband was acsessery to the 
offence thareby putting me to much Expense & Truble 
to the amt $1000 winch if he gets them he or h 
Fnends must refund these 4 negros here are worth in 
th market about 4000 for tha are Extraordenary fine 

take 8000 Dollars for them but as the thing now stands 

SpkETv*? 1 "^? hiS nwd ™red Relations 
in Phdadelphx I will take 5000 for the 4 culerd people 
& rf this wi 1 smte him & he can raise the money I will 
deliver to km or his agent at padnca at mouth of 
Tennessee river said negroes but the money must be 
Deputed m the Hands of some respectable person at 
paduca before I remoye the property it wold not be 
sale for peter to come to this countery 

" write me a line on recpt of this & let me know 
peters views on the above 

"I am Yours &c 

"B. McKiernan" 
" NB say to peter to write & let me know his views 
amediately as I am determind to act in a way if he 
dont take this offer he will never have an other ap ! 
portumty 1 

"B. McKiernan" ;> 

This letter was soon circulated among those friends 
who had become interested in accomplishing the re-union 
of the fanuly, and so enormous was the price demanded 
for the slaves that few persons deemed it possible for 
•feter to procure the means to ransom them. But his 



316 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

courage did not falter.. He could not live in freedom, 
surrounded by his friends, and supplied with every 
comfort, and yet make no effort to redeem those he 
loved far better than life, or even liberty, from the cruel 
bondage which they endured. But for a time he hesi- 
tated as to the means that would be safest and most 
speedy in effecting his purpose. Give it up, he would 
not — that was settled. 

He thought of going from place to place to solicit 
aid, but then he was unknown, and even the benevo- 
lent in heart would hesitate to contribute towards so 
large a sum, while they were unacquainted with his 
previous character. It would be useless to write to 
any of his old friends in Tuscumbia for testimonials 
concerning the uprightness of his former life — for there 
he was believed to have originated the plan of running 
off his family, and he knew that notwithstanding all 
his years of honest, patient, persevering toil he was 
now branded as a riegro thief. 

After pondering the subject for some weeks, he 
bethought him that after all, he misrht have a friend in 
"the North" who had known his character. He re- 
membered that one of the young ladies, who had 
taught in the Seminary at Tuscumbia, returned home 
about the time he finished paying for himself; and he 
resolved, if possible, to ascertain her residence. He 
had heard the teachers, in conversation with each other, 
mention New York and Syracuse, and he believed the 
latter place had been their home. Yet he had no cer- 
tain knowledge, for he had cautiously refrained from 
asking any questions about the North, lest he should 
be suspected of undue curiosity respecting the dwelling 
of the Free. He soon communicated to his friends 



PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 317 

his hope of obtaining some testimonials of good charac- 
ter from these ladies, if they could be found, and a 
letter of inquiry concerning them was immediately 
written by Mr. McKim, of Philadelphia, to Eev. S. 
J. May, of Syracuse. 

This letter was promptly answered, but from some 
unknown cause the reply was not received by Peter. 
So he quietly continued at his service, performing his 
regular duties to the satisfaction of his mistress, though 
all the while his mind was racked by alternate hopes 
and fears. 

Thus passed the winter of 1851—2 ; but in the spring 
his anxiety to do something for his family became so 
intense that he resolved to go out and try his success 
in collecting funds for their ransom. He acquainted 
Mrs. Buckman with this design, but, just after she had 
engaged another servant to take his place, an incident 
occurred which revived his hope of finding yet a 
friend. He heard a gentleman who was visiting at the 
house speak of his home in Syracuse, and he took an 
opportunity to inquire of him if he had ever known 
the ladies of whom he was so anxious to hear. To his 

great joy Mr. knew them both, and informed 

him that although one of them still remained in the 
South, the other had returned, was married, and resided 
a few miles from Syracuse. 

This cheering news Peter communicated to his mis- 
tress, who, at his request, wrote for him to his friend. 
He now determined to remain in Burlington until he 
should receive an answer to this letter, and accordingly, 
he entered the service of Judge Boudinot, one of the 
principal citizens of that place. 

About this time the idea occurred to him, that, per- 



318 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

haps, it would be best to buy bis wife and daugbter 
first, and afterwards to try to raise a sum sufficient to 
purcbase tbe two boys. He determined at least to 
learn wbat chance of success be would bave in case be 
sbould obtain tbe means to do tbis ; and for assistance 
in making tbis inquiry, be applied to Dr. Ely, of Med- 
ford, K. J., wbo wrote for bim a second letter to Mr. 
Tbornton of Tuscumbia. To tbis came in due time 
tbe following answer : 

" Tuscumbia, Ala., August 19th, 1852. 

"E N. Ely — Dear Sir — Your letter bas remained 
unanswered for so long because I bave not been able 
to bave an interview witb Mr. McKiernan on tbe sub- 
ject about wbicb you wrote. I bave just seen bim. 
He says be will not separate tbe family of negroes, and 
tbe lowest price be will take under any circumstances 
is $5,000 ; and if tbat is placed in my bands, or witb 
any responsible persons for bim, be will let tbe ne- 
groes go. 

" I would like Peter to get bis wife and family, and 
think tbis amount a bigb price : but it is tbe lowest, I 
know. Yery respectfully, 

Lewis B. Thornton." 

Tbe letter written by Mrs. Buckman failed to reacb 
its destination ; and after remaining in Judge Boudi- 
not's service for five montbs, Peter resolved to go him- 
self to Syracuse, and find bis friend, if indeed be bad 
one in tbat vicinity. If be accomplished tbis, be would 
then try bis success in collecting money. He bad 
already saved from bis wages since be bad been in 
Burlington, one hundred dollars, wbicb he determined 
should be the first contribution towards the $5,000. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 
"HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 

Peter received from his friends at parting but small 
encouragement to hope. The sum required was so 
enormous, and the idea o^ paying gold to him who 
had already robbed them of the earnings of long years 
was so repugnant to the feelings of the best men, that 
it seemed almost useless to attempt to raise the money. 
A few days before he started, his brother William said 
to him, " You ought not to feel so uneasy — so perfectly 
restless because your family are slaves. There are 
thousands of people as good as they who are in the 
same condition. * Do you see that woman across the 
street? She is just as good as you are, and she has 
a mother and sisters in slavery. You cannot expect 
people to give you five thousand dollars to buy your 
family, when so many others, equally deserving, are 
just as badly off." 

" Look here," replied Peter, " I know a heap of men, 
as good, and as smart as I am, that are slaves now; 
but — Tve bought my liberty, and my family shall be free.''' 1 

On the eighth of November, 1852, he left Burling- 
ton on his travels, carrying with him the kindest 
wishes of all who knew him, and also the following 

[319] 



320 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

certificates from those whom lie had served in that 
city. 

" Burlington, November 6, 1852. 

" Peter Still (a colored man), has lived in my employ 
for some months past, but I have known him for two 
years. 

" It affords me much pleasure in being able to re- 
commend him, as an honest, sober, industrious and 
capable man, perfectly trustworthy and ever willing to 
make himself generally useful, either about the house 
or stable. I part with him reluctantly ; he leaves me, 
to make an effort to redeem his wife and children from 
slavery. 

"E. E. Boudinot." 

" The above named Peter Still, was in my employ 
ten months, during which time he fully sustained the 
character given him by Mr. Boudinot. It gives me 
pleasure to add my name to this recommendation. 

"Mary A. Buckman." 

" Judge Boudinot is one of our principal citizens, 
and I have entire confidence in his recommendation of 
Peter Still. 

" CORTLANDT VAN EENSSELAER. 
" Burlington, N. J., Nov. 6, 1852." 

Peter went first to Brooklyn, where he visited his 
brother John, who by his advice and sympathy did 
much to cheer him on his way. "Now, Peter," said 
he, " you can call on me at any time for fifty or a 
hundred dollars, and whenever you need clothes, or 
anything else that I can furnish you, just let me know. 



"HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 321 

And be careful whom you trust. You will find plenty 
of friends, if it is known you have a little money. Be 
careful, and watch well for rogues. 

On the sixteenth of November, he reached Syra- 
cuse, and delivered a letter of introduction and recom- 
mendation from Mr. McKim, of Philadelphia, to Rev. 
Mr. May. This lover of humanity listened with 
great interest to his thrilling story, examined his 
papers, which gave ample testimony to the integrity 
of his character, as well as to the truthfulness of his 
tale ; and the next day sent him to the residence of 
the friend whom he had come to seek — the writer of 
this narrative. Here he remained until the nine- 
teenth, when, with a letter to Mr. May, corroborating 
such facts in his statement as had come to her know- 
ledge, and certifying to his character for truthfulness 
and industry while a slave, he returned to Syracuse. 

He was now thoroughly furnished for his arduous 
undertaking ; and with letters of introduction from Mr. 
May to various co-laborers in the work of benevo- 
lence, he left Syracuse, and journeyed westward. 

His first stop was at Auburn, where a letter from 
Mr. May, together with his other papers, and above all, 
his modest earnestness of manner, won him a favorable 
reception. He visited first the clergymen of the differ- 
ent churches, to some of whom he brought letters; 
and they commended him to the charity of their 
people. Here, in Eev. Mr. Millard's church, on Sun- 
day evening, he appeared for the first time before the 
public. "I was mighty skeered," said he, "when Mr. 
Millard took me with him into the pulpit, and told me 
I must stand up, myself, and tell my story to the 
people. 'Peared like I could n't stand, no how ; but I 
14* 



322 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

said a few words, and Mr. Millard, lie helped me out ; 
so I got along mighty well." 

He remained a week in Auburn, and received while 
there fifty dollars. This success encouraged him, and 
he went on to Rochester, stopping by the way at 
Waterloo, where also he received some assistance. 

At Rochester he staid two or three weeks, and was 
kindly entertained at the houses of worthy citizens, 
and about the middle of December he returned to 
Syracuse with two hundred dollars. This, Mr. May 
deposited for him in the bank, and giving him letters 
to Messrs. William Lloyd Garrison, Theodore Parker, 
T. Starr King, and others, in Boston, bade him hasten 
thither, in order to be there before the Holidays. 

As soon as he had delivered his letters of introduc- 
tion from Mr. May, in Boston, he sought Andover, for 
the purpose of visiting the Author of " Uncle Tom's 
.Cabin," to whom also he had a letter of recommenda- 
tion. Mrs. Stowe received him cordially, and after 
heading his subscription list in Andover, gave him the 
following brief letter, which, he says " helped him 
mightily" 

" Having examined the claims of this unfortunate 
man, I am satisfied that his is a case that calls for com- 
passion and aid. 

" Though the sum demanded is so large as to look 
hopeless, yet if every man who is so happy as to be 
free, and have his own wife and children for his own, 
would give even a small amount, the sum might soon 
be raised. 

" As ye would that men should do for you — do ye 
even so for them. 

H. B. Stowe." 



"how did he get the money?" 323 

A contribution was also taken for him at the Free 
Church in Andover, and during his stay in that town 
he received about forty dollars. 

On his return to Boston, he presented the following 
letter, which he had brought from Burlington, to Kev. 
John P. Eobinson. 

" Burlington, N". J., Oct. 5, 1852. 
" Dear Cousin John :— Peter Still, who carries this 
note, is one of the most estimable of men. He wishes 
to have access to the great hearts of some of the good 
people of your city, who have great purses. 

" Please get from him his history, and his object, 
and direct him what to do. His integrity may be re- 
lied on. " Affectionately, 

" Joseph Parrish." 

" The above letter is from Dr. Joseph Parrish, a dis- 
tinguished physician of New Jersey, and well known 
by his profession in Boston. 

" John P. Eobinson. 

" Boston, January 3, 1853." 

A day or two later, the following notice appeared in 
one of the morning papers, which has been copied in 
the papers of almost every New England town which 
Peter afterwards visited : 

" Boston, January 3, 1853. 
" The bearer, Peter Still, was kidnapped in early 
childhood, on the borders of Delaware river, in New 
Jersey, and carried thence to Kentucky, and subse- 
quently to Alabama. After being held in slavery 



324 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

more than forty years, he succeeded in purchasing his 
freedom ; and being obliged, consequently, by the 
laws of Alabama, to leave that State, he came North to 
Philadelphia, where, by a strange coincidence, he be- 
came acquainted with his brother and family, from 
which he had been so long severed. He has left a wife 
and three children in Alabama, whom he naturally 
and ardently desires to bring into freedom, and have 
with him at the North. For this purpose he now ap- 
peals to the sympathy of the benevolent for such pecu- 
niary aid as they may be disposed to give him. 

" We, the undersigned, have carefully examined his 
letters and papers, and have obtained knowledge of 
him. From this examination, we are satisfied that his 
story is true in all its particulars ; that he is himself a 
worthy and virtuous man, whose extraordinary history 
gives him a strong and peculiar claim upon the public 
sympathy and aid. 

" Any contributions for the object above named may 
be forwarded to any of us. 

" S. K. Lothrop, 
" Ellis Geay Loping, 
" Ephraim Peabody, 
" wm. j. bowditch, 
u j. i. bowditch, 
" John P. Eobinson, 
"Thos. Starr Kino." 

In Boston and neighboring towns he remained till 
the last of March, when, having deposited four hundred 
and sixty dollars in the hands of Ellis Gray Loring, 
Esq., who kindly acted as his treasurer, he received 
numerous letters of recommendation from gentlemen 



"how did he get the money?" 325 

of distinction here, and went to Portland, Me. The 
following will serve to illustrate the spirit cherished by 
these noble sons of New England towards the dark- 
hued victim of oppression. Among his papers are 
many others which breathe the same tender sympathy 
the same warm human love. 

" Boston, March 28th, 1853. 
" I desire to certify that I am acquainted with Mr. 
Peter Still, have examined all his papers, and am 
entirely satisfied with the truthfulness of his story and 
the worthiness of his claims upon the sympathy and 
beneficence of the community. It does not seem possi- 
ble that any further commendation of a Christian 
brother's appeal to the charity of men should be needed 
than the fact that he desires to be the owner of his own 
wife and family. So far as any words of mine can 
help him, I most cordially recommend him to the 
favorable consideration of the humane. 

" T. S. King." 

At Portland Peter's subscription list was headed by 
Hon. Neal Dow ; and during the eight days he spent 
in that city, he received one hundred dollars. Thence 
he proceeded to Brunswick, Bath, Saco, Biddeford ; 
Portsmouth, K H.; Hampton, Newburyport and Gar- 
retson Station ; and on his return to Boston, about the 
last of May, he deposited four hundred and ninety 
dollars in the hands of Mr. Loring; making in all 
nine hundred and fifty dollars which he had received 
during the five months he had spent in New England. 

He now decided to return to New Jersey and to 
visit Philadelphia for the purpose of further conference 



326 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

with his friends. As he passed through New York, 
on his way thither, he presented a letter to Thomas 
Foulcke of that city, from Dr. Parrish of Burlington, 
and though he staid but a short time, a few friends 
there presented him seventy -five dollars. 

At Burlington he allowed himself a few days rest. 
He had been absent seven months, and had visited 
more than twenty different towns. His mind had 
been constantly excited — the theme of his discourse 
wherever he went, was the liberation of his family. 
He had no doubts concerning the result. When asked 
what he would do with the money he had gained, if 
after all, he failed to accomplish his object, his reply 
was, " Tears like the Lord wont let me fail." Such 
was his simple, earnest faith, and to this his actions 
corresponded. His dress was neat, but strictly eco- 
nomical, and though he was not mean, yet every dol- 
lar he received was precious. 

Notwithstanding his success thus far, his friends in 
New Jersey and Philadelphia had no confidence in 
his being able to raise the whole sum demanded by the 
tyrant ; and Mr. Dillwyn Smith, of Burlington, who 
from the first, had taken much interest in his case, 
wrote for him to his former mistress, Mrs. Hogun, of 
Alabama, to solicit her influence with Mr. McKiernan, 
in the hope of procuring some abatement of the price. 

For two weeks Peter waited there for an answer to 
this letter, but none arriving, he grew impatient to 
proceed with his great work ; and once more bidding 
adieu to his kind friends, who had, during his stay, 
presented him forty-five dollars, he left them and went 
again to Brooklyn. 

There he spent the fourth of July with his brother 



"how did he get the moxey?" 327 

John, and then he went to Syracuse, where, in a few 
days, he received one hundred and twenty -five dollars. 
Thence he went to Peterboro', and spent a night at the 
home of Gerritt Smith. He had frequently heard, 
since he had been free, of the great wealth of this dis- 
tinguished friend of Man, and he had expected to find 
him inhabiting a princely dwelling, abounding in all 
the luxuries that gold can buy. But to his astonish- 
ment, his residence was a plain and quiet home, and 
his manners and style of living entirely free from pcmp 
and ostentation. Mr. Smith gave him the following 
letter, together with a generous sum for the furtherance 
of his all-engrossing object. 

" I am, and have long been deeply interested in the 
case of the bearer, Peter Still. I hope he may meet 
with generous friends wherever he shall go. 

"Gerkitt Smith. 

" Peterboro, July 27, 1853." 

Peter now returned to Boston, arriving there the last 
of July, and on the third of August, he was in New 
Bedford. Here he remained till the twelfth, when he 
returned to Boston with one hundred and fifteen 
dollars, which he deposited in the hands of Mr. Lor- 
ing. Next he visited Lowell, whence he returned on 
the second of September, with one hundred and eighty- 
five dollars. This also he placed in the care of his 
kind treasurer. Somerville gave him thirty-six dollars, 
Cambridge nineteen, and next he found himself at 
Worcester, where soon after his arrival the following 
notice appeared in the " Spy." 



328 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" "Worcester, September 8, 1853. 

" We would take this method of commending to the 
attention of all Christians and friends of humanity, the 
bearer, Peter Still. We heard his story, and examined 
his letters of introduction when he first came to Boston, 
in December last, and are satisfied of his worthiness to 
be encouraged and helped as he needs. He has been 
welcomed to many hearts in New England, and he 
will be to many more. All ye who can, give him aid 
and comfort. 

"J. G-. Adams. 

" A. Hill. 

" Edward E. Hale." 

In Worcester he remained about two weeks, and 
then once more returned to Boston with one hundred 
and seventy-five dollars. 

Next he journeyed southward ; visited Plymouth, 
Kingston, and Fall Kiver, and in every town found 
friends ready and willing to aid him in his work. 
From Fall Kiver, Rev. Asa Bronson commended him 
in the following letter to Providence, to which place 
he immediately repaired : 

" To the disciples of Christ and the friends of humanity 
in Providence. R. I. 
" I have carefully examined the various letters and 
documents of Peter Still, and I fully believe that he is 
entitled to the entire confidence, cordial sympathy, and 
generous aid of the Christian public. We have as- 
sisted him in Fall River and vicinity to the amount of 
about $200. 



ti 



HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 329 



" Help him if you can. < He that hath pity on the 
poor, lendeth to the Lord.' 

" With due respect, 

" Yours, 

"Asa Bkonsost. 

" FaJl Eiver, October 26th, 1853." 

In Providence, Peter remained during the month 
of November, and on looking at his book, in which 
were registered the gifts he there received, we find that 
one hundred and forty separate individuals contributed 
to his aid. Besides what he then personally received, 
collections were taken up for him in four churches in 
the city on the seventh of November. In Worcester, 
one hundred and fifty-four individuals contributed' 
and when we consider that to most of these persons, 
he of course repeated a sketch of his history, we cannot 
but wonder that his energies flagged not. We must, 
at least, admire his industry. 

He received in Providence two hundred and fifty 
dollars ; and then after making a short visit at Woburn, 
he returned to Boston, having gathered during the ten 
weeks he had been absent, six hundred and thirty 
dollars. Here he remained, visiting occasionally at 
Eoxbury, Charlestown, Cambridge, and other neigh- 
boring towns, until about the middle of January, when, 
placing in the hands of his treasurer two hundred 
dollars more, which he had gathered since his return 
from Providence, he started homeward. 

On the twentieth of January, we again find him in 
New York. He brought from a kind friend in Salem 
the following letter, which he immediately presented : 



330 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" Salem, First Month 12th, 1854. 

" My dear friend: I take the liberty of giving the 
bearer, Peter Still, a letter to thee. He is the colored 
man, whose story I partly related to thee in Boston. 

"I think there is that in his story that verifies the 
proverb, that 'truth is stranger than fiction.' 

"I do not doubt the truthfulness of Peter, and he 
can tell thee his own story, which unfolds a phase in 
the history of slavery strongly illustrative of its evils, 
its oppressions, its injustice, and its opposition to all 
that is good, and kind, and Christian. 

"I have ventured to tell Peter that I think he will 
find sympathizing friends in New York, and among 
them the kind friend I now address. 

" Thy sincere friend, 

" Stephen A. Chase. 

" Robert J. Murray." 

This kind friend was right. Peter found sympathiz- 
ing friends in New York, and before the middle of 
February he had received in that cit}^ and Brooklyn 
$1,146 45. 

He then went on to Burlington, and in that city and 
its neighborhood, he remained until May. His heart 
now beat high with the hope of a speedy reunion with 
his loved ones ; and even those among his friends who, 
at first had been furthest from uttering words of vain 
encouragement, now cheered him on. They looked 
upon him with wonder. All unlettered as he was — 
but four years out of slavery — they could hardly credit 
his strange success, while hearing from his own lips 
the story of his travels. 



"how did he get the money?" 331 

Peter was not spoiled by his good fortune, and never 
presumed upon the indulgence of his benefactors. 
Everywhere his manners were the same— modest and 
respectful, yet full of earnest dignity— the result of 
virtuous self-respect. " In every place I go," said he, 
"I aim to associate with the' best people. I never 
knowed nothing gained by going into low company." 
And he was right. The best men in every place he 
visited opened wide their doors at his coming ; and at 
their tables, notwithstanding the prejudice — once well- 
nigh universal — against color, he was a welcome guest. 
Early in May, he again departed on his travels ; and 
earnestly did he hope that this tour would be the last, 
before he should be ready to start in another direction 
— to meet those for whose ransom he had become a 
wanderer. 

He went directly to New York, where he received 
the following letter from the senior editor of the 
Tribune, which he hastened to deliver in Albany. 

" New York, May 10, 1854. 

11 My Old Friend : Peter Still, who will hand you 
this, was born free in New Jersey ; kidnapped thence 
when six years old, with his brother, two years older, 
and sold into slavery ; served forty years in Alabama ; 
finally bought himself free, leaving his wife and three 
children in the hands of the scoundrels who had 
robbed him of forty years' work; and he is now 
begging money to buy them out of bondage. His 
chivalrous robber only asks him $5000 for his own 
wife and children. It is robbery to pay it, but inhu- 
manity to refuse ; and, as the time has not yet arrived 
for paying such villains with lead and steel, rather 



332 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

than gold, I wish you could help him raise a part of 
the money among those you know. 
" Yours, 

"Horace Greeley. 

11 George Dawson, Esq., 

" Albany Evening Journal Office." 

Here, too, Peter found friends. Thurlow Weed, 
after contributing generously to his aid, gave him a 
letter expressive of his confidence in the integrity of 
his character, and, during the few days which he spent 
in the Dutch Capital, he received seventy-five dollars. 

Thence he went to Pittsfield, Mass., where he re- 
ceived one hundred and five dollars, and then, without 
loss of time, he journeyed on to Springfield. Here 
one hundred dollars was added to his fund, and on the 
twenty-second day of June, we find him at New 
Haven. 

Soon after his arrival here, he waited on Rev. Leon- 
ard Bacon, to whom he brought a letter of introduc- 
tion. Mr. Bacon examined all his papers, and imme- 
diately entered with great zeal into the work of aiding 
his endeavors. He gave him the following letter of 
recommendation to his townsmen ; and in divers ways, 
proved himself one of that noble band who delight in 
works of mercy for the mercy's sake. 

" The case of this poor man, Peter Still, is a hard one. 
Kidnapped in his youth, and by unlegalized fraud and 
violence reduced to slavery, he has borne the yoke for 
many years with exemplary patience. He became a 
husband, in the sense in which a slave can be a hus- 
band ; and children — his by the law of nature and of 



"how did he get the money?" 833 

God, "but another man's property by the atrocious laws 
of Alabama — were born to him in the house of bond- 
age. At last he became free by the consent of his 
owner. He purchased his freedom by the slow 
accumulation of what he could earn when all the ser- 
vice exacted by an absolute master, from day to da} r , 
had been performed. His wife and three children at- 
tempted to escape from slavery, and were re-captured. 
Meanwhile, he himself, returning to the region in which 
he was born, has found his yet surviving mother and 
his numerous brothers and sisters, who are living in 
and near Philadelphia. He has also found friends and 
benefactors, as he has travelled from place to place, in 
the enterprise of collecting the exorbitant sum which 
is demanded for the liberty of his wife and children. 

" I have examined his papers and am convinced of 
their authenticity, and of his entire honesty and re- 
liableness. The letter from the legal owner of his wife 
and children is especially worth studying. 

"Leonard Bacon. 

" New Haven, 23d June, 1854." 

In New Haven, Peter remained until about the 
middle of July ; and we find, by referring to his re- 
gistry, that he received donations in that city from 
more than two hundred and fifty persons. In the list 
of his benefactors — Heaven bless them all— we find 
"Carpenter's Millinery Help''' "Ladies in Shirt Fac- 
tory" " Workmen in Clock Factory" " Young Ladies of 
Miss Dutton's School" " Lancastrian School" "Ladies 
of the Rubber Factory" and " Pupils of Webster High 
School" We also find one contribution set down as — 
"Money Lent." Yea, verily, "He that hath pity mi the 



33-i THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

'poor lendeth to the Lord ; that which he hath given ivill 
he pay him again." In the same long list we see 
"Anti-Abolition" and then, "i Slaveholder" and 
again, " A Slaveholder patterning after Abolitionists" 

After receiving three hnndred dollars in ISTew 
Haven, onr traveller went up to Hartford, and there, 
also, he received three hundred dollars. Thence, with 
a grateful heart, he went to Wethersfield, where he re- 
mained three days, and collected twenty-one dollars. 
August seventh, we find him at Midclletown, Ct., where 
in one week, he received one hundred and twenty-six 
dollars. 

While in Middletown he encountered a lady who in 
consequence of marrying a Northern man, had been 
transplanted there from South Carolina. She assured 
Peter that the slaves were far better off than free ne- 
groes. "Indeed, I know all about it," said she, "for 
my mother owns plenty of them, and not one of them 
is obliged to work so hard as I do myself. Here the 
free negroes are begging around, many of them half- 
starved, and some of them stealing and going to prison." 

"Yes, ma'am," answered Peter, "they do that, both 
white and colored. It is not the colored people alone 
that beg and steal ; and I have been told that there are 
more white people in the prisons than black ones, any 
how." 

" Well, that may be, but they are better off in the 
South, where they are all taken good care of." 

" So I came away and left her," said Peter, as he 
related this incident, " but I couldn't help wishin' I 
knowed whether she'd like to be a happy, well-fed 
slave herself." 

The next week he spent in Meriden, where he col- 



"how did he get the money?" 335 

lected eighty dollars ; and August 22d we find him at 
Bridgeport. Here, also, he found many friends ; 
though at one house where he called, he met a violent 
rebuff. The master met him at the door ; and Peter, as 
was his custom, modestly proffered his request — pre- 
senting at the same time his papers. The gentleman 
did not wait to examine these, but proceeded in a loud 
voice to curse him "mightily." '' I know," cried he, 
"it's all a d — d lie. There's a parcel always coming 
round telling their lies. I don't believe one word you 
say. You ought to be arrested. There's a lazy pack 
of you that make it a business to go around whining 
about having families in slavery. It's time it was 
stopped." So saying, he turned his back upon the 
the suppliant; and Peter quietly walked down the 
steps and into the street. 

On mentioning this incident in town, he learned 
that this gentleman himself had 'property in slaves. 
Another slaveholder in the same town he called upon, 
who received him kindly, and assured him that, though 
slavery was not so bad after all as he imagined, yet he 
ivas not to blame for wishing to get his ivife and children. 

Notwithstanding these slight ripples on the surface 
of the waters, Peter received in Bridgeport one hun- 
dred and thirty-six dollars ; and on the fifteenth of 
September, he had found his way to New London. 
Here the friends of humanity contributed one hundred 
and fifteen dollars for his aid ; and the good j^eople of 
Norwich, whose charity he next besought, gave him 
one hundred dollars. 

The first of October found him at Northampton, 
and though he staid not long, yet those in that town 
who " had pity on the poor" gave him forty -five dollars. 



836 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Once more Peter directed his steps toward Syra- 
cuse. How different were the emotions that now 
swelled his heart from those which dwelt there when 
he first approached that city, may be inferred from the 
following extract from a letter written at this time by 
a friend, who from the first had watched his progress 
with the deepest interest : 

"It seemed almost a hopeless undertaking. The 
idea of raising five thousand dollars, by the simple 
recital, in his own uncultured words, of his strangely 
interesting story was certainly not probable ; and, but 
for the wonderful Providences that had restored him 
to his mother, and for his earnest faith in the success 
of his project, it would have seemed like mockery to 
encourage him to go on. But that simple faith was 
mighty, and he went out. Wherever he met noble 
generous natures, there he presented his plea for aid — 
and not in vain. Many of America's proudest names 
are enrolled among those who delighted to encourage 
his true heart by kindly words and generous gifts. 
The blessing of the All-Merciful rest upon them ! He 
who has said, ' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the 
least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me,' 
will not forget their labor of love. 

The $5,000 is ready. It is a great price to pay the 
mean man, who has appropriated to himself all their 
past years of hard labor. But they are his property — 
constitutionally ; and he must be well paid for all the 
care and watchfulness which he has exercised in their 
behalf. How long ! Oh ! how long shall such mockery 
exist ! 

But little more, we trust, remains for our patient 
friend to do before he shall have all things arranged 



"HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 337 

for the exit of those loved ones from the house of 
bondage. There are no doubt kind hearts that will 
still find pleasure in assisting to raise the sum neces- 
sary to defray their travelling expenses. 

" Oh ! that the journey were commenced ! That 
journey which will end in such a joyful embrace of 
husband and wife, father and children ; so hopelessly 
separated — so rapturously met. Beyond the power of 
the master — far from the sound of the overseer's whip ; 
free! feee ! and all together ! Heaven speed the hour 
that shall bring them release ! 

• 

In Syracuse he received letters from Eev. Mr. May 
to Kev. Gk W. Hosmer, Buffalo, also to Eev. Dr. Willis, 
T. Henning, Esq., and Eev. J. B. Smith, of Toronto, 
O.W. 

The eleventh of October saw him in Buffalo, where, 
through the kind offices of Eev. Dr. Hosmer, and 
Peter's friend, Mrs. Legrand Marvin, who had known 
him well during a previous residence of several years 
in Alabama, he received eighty dollars. On the thir- 
teenth, he crossed to Toronto — not for the purpose of 
soliciting funds but merely " to see how his brethren 
(the fugitives from slavery) prospered," and " to enjoy 
the pleasures of treading for once upon/ree soil." Here 
he spent the Sabbath, visited two colored churches, 
and gratefully received a present of fifteen dollars. 

The next Sabbath found him at the little village of 
Camillus, 1ST. Y. Here he had many friends, who had 
long been watching his career, and praying for his ul- 
timate success. He had not previously called on them 
for contributions, but at this time collections were 
taken up for him in both the churches. " He can suc- 
15 



338 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

ceed without our aid," said Eev. Mr. Bush, of the 
Methodist Church, " but we cannot afford to lose this op- 
portunity" To this sentiment each heart responded. 
During the day he received sixty-three dollars; and 
heartfelt prayers were offered for his speedy re-union 
to those for whose ransom he had so faithfully labored. 
He now resolved to return to Burlington, and thence 
to Philadelphia, for the purpose of completing the ar- 
rangements for the purchase of his family before the 
coming of winter. Negotiations had been opened, 
some months before, by Mr. Hallo well, a wealthy mer- 
chant of Philadelphia, with Mr. John Simpson, of 
Florence, Ala., who had agreed, as soon as the requi- 
site funds should be forwarded to him, to buy the 
family for Peter. Accordingly, soon after Peter's re- 
turn to Philadelphia, his friends in that cit}^ having 
contributed the balance of the sum necessary to defray 
the expenses of their journey, a clerk of the house of 
Hallowell & Co. was sent to Florence with the money ; 
and with instructions to receive the family, and to con- 
duct them to their future home among the free. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

EXPERIENCE OF THE RETURNED 

FUGITIVES. 

Before noon on Saturday, the fifth of April, 1851, 
Vina and her children returned to their deserted cabin. 
Through what an age of anxiety and suffering had 
they passed during the three weeks which had elapsed 
since they forsook the shelter of its lowly roof. Then 
the hope of liberty had caused their hearts to throb, 
and their dark eyes to gleam with an unwonted light ; 
now their hearts were hard, and still in their deep 
anguish, and a heavy shadow dwelt beneath their 
downcast e^yelids. 

The best of the furniture and clothing which they 
had left, had all been stolen and conveyed away dur- 
ing their absence, but this they heeded not in their 
despair. True, many hours of tedious toil, by night, 
had been required to purchase these few comforts, but 
now tli at liberty had been rudely snatched from their 
eager grasp, they had no tears to shed for minor losses. 

At noon, the people came in from the field. Most 
of them looked wistfully upon the captured fugitives, 
and when they said "HowcCij" their voices had a 
mournful tone. Others, however, were glad they had 
been brought back, " bekase," they said, " dey's nuthin' 

[339] 



340 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

but niggers, no how, .and dey's allers so mighty good, 
and never gits de cowhide; now dey'll des find out 
how good it feels to git a cuttin' up." 

After dinner, the family were sent out with the 
other hands to plant cotton. Ah ! their labor just then 
was greatly needed, and for that reason, probably, the 
day of vengeance was postponed. They knew it was 
not forgotten; for dark hints were often uttered in 
their hearing, and threatening looks were cast upon 
the runaways. 

In gloomy silence they pursued their regular labors, 
till Wednesday morning, when Mr. McKiernan, at- 
tended by Smith, the overseer, entered the field. Yina 
knew their errand, and her indignation rose — but she 
was helpless. She saw them approaching the spot 
where young Peter was at work, and heard them order 
him to strip. Poor fellow ! he was wholly in their 
power, and he obeyed. 

There stood the mother and counted the two hun- 
dred heavy lashes that fell upon the naked back of her 
first-born son. He bore his torture bravely. Not one 
cry for mercy did he utter ; not one imploring look 
did he vouchsafe the fiends, who sought to bend his 
spirit; and not till they had finished, did he speak. 
" This is the last time," said he then to the overseer, 
" that you shall ever strike me. I never will be whip- 
ped again by any man." 

"Hush your mouth, you d — d rascal," cried his 
master, "or I'll have as much more put on you." 

They left the young man, and came to his mother. 
Smith attempted to tie her. "No, sir," said she, "I 
don't belong to you, and you aint gwine to whip me. 
Yer's my mass'r — I belong to him, and he may kill 



EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 341 

me if he want to; but I'm not'gwine let you tie me 
nor whip me. You don't like me, and I never did like 
you no how. If my mass'r wants me beat, he must do 
it hisself." 

Mr. McKiernan was sitting on his horse, but at this 
he dismounted, and bade the overseer give him his 
whip. Smith complied, and the chivalrous master 
ordered her to take off her coat He then tied her 
hands, and gave her less than a hundred blows, a 
slight punishment for a runaway. He did it very 
gently too, for the skin, though sorely bruised, was not 
cut by the cowhide. 

This done, the two worthies repaired to the black- 
smith's shop, where Levin was at work ; and then his 
manly form was bared, while the fierce lash of the 
overseer whizzed through the air as though it loved 
the sport.* 

^ Catharine escaped the cowhide. Her master ques- 
tioned her minutely concerning her knowledge of the 
plan of the escape, but she appeared so ignorant that 
he told the overseer it was not worth while to whip 
her. " It's that devilish Peter that's been at the bottom 
of all this," said he, " and I believe the Jew has done 
the work. There's Catherine, she didn't understand 
any of their plans; but her mother— d—n her, she's 

* Neither the stocks nor the runaway's heavy irons were called 
into requisition, why, we know not, unless their very success in 
once reaching the Free States warned their master against provok- 
ing another attempt at flight. The influence of this overseer was 
also opposed to such exhibitions of barbarity. " Smith," Vina 
says, « was mons's hard to chillun, and them women whar was 
afeard of him, but to the rest o' the hands, he was as good as any 
0' the overseers." 



342 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

got sense enough. It would be just like her to try it 
again, but she'll never go and leave her daughter. 
She's always doted on her girl, and I'll be d — d if I 
blame her, for Catharine is a devilish likely wench. So 
it's best to keep one of them on the island, I reckon 
the old woman. She wouldn't be long starting off 
again d — n her, if she took it into her head. She was 
always bound to have her own way, though to tell the 
truth, she r s as clever a woman as ever I owned." 

The next Sunday, Vina received the order to pre- 
pare to go to the island. It did not seem to move her. 
"I don't keer whar they sends me," said she, "any 
place is better 'n this yer." So with desperate prompt- 
ness she packed up the few articles necessary to furnish 
the cabin which she was to inhabit there, and that very 
day she departed. 

" I liked stayin' on the island a heap the best," she 
says, " out o' sight mostly of both mass'r and Missus. 
Me and them had fell out, and I didn't never want to 
make friends with 'em no more. I didn't keer about 
bein' called in every time any person was took sick, 
and I just determined that if they ever sent for me 
agin, I wouldn't go without they clriv me like a dog." 

Of all the beating hearts on the plantation, none 
thrilled with such a commingling of delight and grief 
at the return of Vina and her family, as did that of a 
maiden named Susanna. 

She was a bright mulatto, the daughter of "Aunt 
Patsey," who for the last few years, had taken charge 
of the young children. Susanna was a quiet well- 
behaved girl, that had been raised on the place, and 
ever since they were children, young Peter and herself 
had loved each other. But when his father went away, 



EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 343 

and left to his family the assurance that if he lived 
they should be free. Peter determined to obey his 
counsel; and so the union of the devoted pair was 
postponed for an indefinite period. 

Now that their great effort to achieve their liberty 
had failed, the young man's heart would whisper that 
perhaps his father would consider his request no longer 
binding. Yet he kept these thoughts hid deep in his 
own breast, for he saw that in his mother's heart, all 
hope of freedom was not yet extinct. 

But the master's watchful eye had long noticed their 
attachment, and, imagining that if Peter had a wife he 
would be less likely to run off again, he determined 
that now they should be married. No favorable oppor- 
tunity however occurred for him to urge the matter, 
until the crop was laid by in August ; when, according 
to his annual custom, he gave his slaves a barbacue. 
Then he determined that the marriage should take 
place. 

The long trench was duly prepared with its bed of 
glowing coals, over which were roasting numerous pigs 
and chickens, with the flesh of sheep and oxen in 
abundance. Peter was aiding in the preparation of the 
feast, when he was summoned into the presence of his 
master. 

" How would you like to marry Susanna, boy ?" 

" I don't care about marryin' any body now, Sir." 

" But Susanna says she loves you, and you ought to 
have her." 

" No, Sir, I don't care about marryin' without my 
people's willin'." 

" It's no matter about your mother, boy, I give you 



344 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

leave, and you needn't ask her anything about it. Go 
and dress yourself." 

"I've got nothin' to dress in." 

"Well, go and put on clean clothes, any how, and 
then come back to me." 

Peter went to his mother's cabin. For a time he 
hesitated, but his master's command was absolute, and 
he had bid him hasten. His long-years' love for 
Susanna was not silent, but that voice he knew how 
to quell at duty's bidding. His mother, he could not 
bear to vex her. 

Half undecided what course would be the wisest, he 
dressed mechanically in clean working-clothes. (He 
had a suit of Sunday clothes which he had bought 
himself, but these he would not wear to please his 
master) His toilette completed, he sat down again to 
think. He could not long defer his decision, for his 
master would be as angry at his delay, as if he should 
refuse obedience to his orders; so at last, scarcely know- 
ing whether he was doing right or wrong, he left the 
cabin, and approached the spot where he had left 
McKiernan. 

Susanna, having previously received an order from 
her master to dress and come to him, was already 
there. 

One of their fellow-slaves, a preacher, named "William 
Handy was now called to marry them ; and in a few 
minutes they were marching around the field at the 
head of a troop of their young companions, who with 
gay songs and merry laughter were celebrating the 
marriage of their friends. 

Vina soon heard what had occurred ; but she was 
one of the cooks, and she continued quietly to baste 



EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 345 

the meat, though every moment her wrath was rising 
higher. Levin stood by her side, and he, too, was 
indignant. Soon the master approached. " Why don't 
you march with the others?" said he to Vina. 

"I aint a soldier," replied she, "and I don't know 
nuthin' about marchin'." 

" Why, what is the matter with you ?" 

" Nuthin' more'n common ; and things that's com- 
mon yer is shockin' to strangers." 

" What's that ? Say that again." 

She repeated her words. " There's not a plantation 
in a million o' miles whar thar's such works as thar is 
yar." 

" Better mind how you talk, girl, or I'll give you a 
slap." 

" I don't keer what you do. I would n't keer if 
you killed him and me too. You've done made a 
heap o' matches, and none of 'em never prospered, no 
how." 

" Oh, I was so mad !" she says, " every time I looked 
down, 'peared like I could see sparks o' fire a comin' 
out o' my eyes. Then he went to the house and told 
the missus I was powerful mad. She 'lowed he ought 
to be ashamed o' himself, kase she said he'd done 'me 
mean, and she did n't blame me if I was mad. Well, 
he said, when they wanted to marry, nobody should n't 
hinder 'em. He'd marry 'em hisself when he liked." 

The young people lived in the cabin with Aunt 
Patsey, and for some time the current of their lives 
flowed calmly on. After about a year, a little boy 
was folded to Susanna's breast — a fine, " peart," healthy 
child. She named him Edmund ; and he soon became 
very dear "to the hearts of all his kindred. But Yina, 
15* 



346 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

now that the tide which had whelmed her in des- 
pair had fallen, lived in hourly expectation of a sum- 
mons to her husband ; and she was sad at the advent 
of this little one. She, too, loved the baby dearly \ 
but she knew it formed another tie to bind the young 
father fast to slave-land. 

When little Edmund was a few months old, he was 
seized with whooping-cough, and then he needed his 
mother's care. But she was forced to go each morn- 
ing to the field ; and though Aunt Patsey was not heed- 
less of her little grandchild, yet she had so many chil- 
dren to look after that she could not always watch him. 
So he took cold, and then his cough became worse; 
and week after week, he continued to grow weaker, till 
it was plain that he could live but little longer. 

Oh ! how his mother longed to stay in and nurse 
him for the last few days ! But in vain she begged 
this privilege of the overseer — and when, in her sor- 
row, she sought her mistress, who had seen four of 
her own little ones laid in the grave, the lady sharply 
bade her " Go out to work." " It's no use," said she, 
" for you to stay in — you don't know how to take care 
of children — if you did, your baby never would have 
been so bad." 

A week later, a messenger was sent to the field to 
bid Peter and his wife come and see the last of their child; 
and, first obtaining permission of the overseer, they 
hastened to the cabin. The baby did not know them 
now — and though the young mother fondly kissed his 
lips, and breathed his name in tenderest accents, she 
could awake no answering smile. A fierce convulsion 
shook his little frame — it passed — the child was dead. 



EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 347 

Fond mother, who hast watched thy little one by 
day and night, until the angels bore him from thy 
arms, rememberest thou the anguish of that hour? 
What torture would have rent thy heart if thou hadst 
seen him wasting — dying, and all for lack of care — 
while thou wast forced to toil for the gain of a remorse- 
less tyrant ! God pity the mother who is doomed to 
live — a slave ! 

11 Ah, well," said the mistress, when they told her 
that Susanna's child was dead — " it will be better off. 
My life is nearly worried out of me by sick children, 
and I am sure I wouldn't care if they were all dead. 
It is just as well for Susanna, for it never would have 
done her any good if it had lived." 

Early in the spring of 1854, another son was born 
unto them, and this they called Peter. Vina had now 
come down from the Island, and had resumed the 
office of general nurse, which she had rilled for many 
years ; and when little Peter was five weeks old, the 
master asked her if she thought Susanna was well 
enough to go out. 

" No, Sir," replied she, " she aint over and above 
strong, no how, and she oughtent to go out when the 
weather's so bad." 

" Well, if you think so, I will give her another 
week." 

But the overseer was " pushed," and before three 
days, Susanna was sent out to the field. A heavy rain 
came on soon after, which was followed by a chilling 
wind. 

" Please, Sir," said the young mother, " may I go to 
the house? I'm mighty cold, and my side aches 
powerful." 



348 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

11 No, no ; you used to be smart enough, but now 
you're always complaining, and getting to be no ac- 
count. Go 'long to your work." 

A week longer she labored, but by that time she 
became so very ill that they could force her to go out 
no more. The doctor was called, but he could do but 
little to relieve her. 

Month after month she lay in the cabin a patient 
sufferer, and watched with a mother's interest the 
growth of her little Peter. Poor baby, he was weak 
and sickly, and she often wished that she might take 
him with her to that better land, where there is neither 
toil, nor pain, nor sorrow. 

" Don't stay long," said Susanna, as she saw Peter 
going out of the cabin one Sunday morning in August, 
u it's lonesome when you're gone." 

He returned and sat down by her side. All day 
she talked sweetly to him of that blest home to which 
she was hastening; for " Susanna was a religious girl," 
and her long, lonely days of sickness she had spent in 
thinking of the happy land above. " I'm gwine away 
from you now, Peter," said she, "but I shall leave our 
little baby with you. You'll take good care of him 
for my sake — won't you? Peter, you'll be lone- 
some when I'm gone, but you must think I'm happy ; 
and it wont be long before you'll come too." 

Her eyes grew very bright as she thus strove to 
comfort her sorrowing young husband ; but when the 
sun went down her eyelids closed — she had gone home. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

"THEY TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEIR 
PROPERTY." 

For more than two years after her return from " dat 
dar jaunt to de Nbrf," Vina remained upon the island. 
Sometimes both of her sons were with her there ; but 
Catharine was kept constantly upon the home place. 

"Well, girl," said her master, some months after 
her return, " do you remember the road you travelled 
when that rascal carried you all off?" 

" Yes, Sir," replied Vina, " I remember every inch 
I went ;' and I could go over it again with my eyes 

shot." ' 

The boys also were questioned concerning their 
knowledge of the route, and they gave similar answers ; 
" though to tell the truth," says Vina, " I should n't 
know no more about it when I got off o' the river, 
than if I was blind." 

Their prompt assertions that they knew " every inch 
of the road," did not diminish their master's fear that 
they might repeat the attempt to escape, and he deter- 
mined to take every possible means to prevent another 
trial. But he could not control his own base passions ; 
and though Vina never smiled, and seldom spoke 
cheerfully in his presence, his evil nature impelled him 

[849] 



350 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

to make one more effort to accomplish the base pur- 
pose in which, years before, she had so signally foiled 
him. Her gloom, the consequence of disappointed 
hope and stern resolve to make another effort to escape 
his hated rule, he construed into the effect of shame at 
her disgrace ; and now, if ever, he deemed he might 
succeed in depriving her of her honor. 

It was winter. She was upon the island engaged in 
picking up trash and burning it to prepare the land for 
plowing. 

The master came, and sat clown by the fire. She 
took no notice of his approach, but continued picking 
up the rubbish, and adding it to the heap. 

"Vina! 0, Vina!" 

She did not answer — there was something in his 
tone that made her angry. 

" Girl ! 0, Girl ! Come here !" 

She turned her head towards him, but continued her 
work. 

11 Here — this fire don't burn much." 

"No, sir— its just kindled— it '11 burn to-reck'ly." 

"Well, you bring some more trash to crowd in 
here." 

She brought him a handful of sticks. 

" Look here, Vina," said he in his most insinuating 
tone, "I intend to stay here on the island to-night — 
won't you come to my house, and stay with me ?" 

11 What you mean, sir, by askin' me such a thing as 
that? You mought as well sing a psalm to a dead covj 
as to name such a thing as that to me. I hav n't forgot 
how you've used me and my chillern just bekase I 
done what any person else would do. I did n't do no 
wrong, and I ain't ashamed o' goin' off; but you ought 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 351 

to be ashamed, sir, to talk to me this way — after my 
knowin' all about you that I do." 

"Well, now look here," urged the gracious master, 
" I've forgiven all that — it's all dead and buried." 

" No, sir, it ain't buried so but what I can scratch it 
up, and it never will be forgot — not by me." 

" Well, won't you come to my house? If you will, 
I'll do all I can for you ; and you never shall want for 
anything." 

" No, sir, I never will come to your house. Thar's 
a little old hut yon', that you built for me, whar don't 
keep the rain out nights ; I cun stay thar like I has 
done. You think I done forgot seein' poor Lydia, 
only a few months ago, bucked down afore that very 
door o' yourn, and all the five hundred blows the poor 
thing tuck just for you ?" 

"Well, I didn't do that." 

" No, sir, but your son did ; and your wife sent him 
the note tellin' him to whip her till he just left the 
breath o' life in her, and Aunt Lucy heard him a 
readin' the note. Thar in the mornin', when thar's a 
white fross on the ground, she was stripped by your 
son — a right young man, not of age yet, and beat with 
whips and an oak paddle as thick as my hand till the 
breath was a'most gone out of her body. That too, 
after you'd whipped her yourself for killin' her child. 
She would n't a killed it only 'twas yourn, and she 
knowed what she'd suffer about it if it was seen.*" 
You mighty good — it's all honey till you gits girls into 
trouble, and then you walks off — and leaves 'em to 

* The whole history of the afiair here referred to is in the posses- 
sion of the writer, but it is too horrid for publication. 



352 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

b'ar all the 'buse they gits. And it 's good enough for 
'em if they'll be fooled by you when they knows you 
so well. Now, wouldn't it be mighty strange if I 
did n't hate you, knowin' so much about your ways as 
I does. I tell you, sir, I never did like you, and I 
never shall." 

"The devil! Don't you stand there, and tell me 
you don't like me." 

"Well, sir, it ain't no hurt to tell the truth ; and that 
is so — I don't like you, and I don't want to hear no 
more such talk as you talked to me to-day." 

" Well, you think of it," said he, returning to his 
softest tone — " and you'd better do as I want you to." 

" It 's no use talkin' — I '11 never put myself in your 
power while I live." 

" What's that girl's name of yours ?" 

"What girl?" 

" Why, your daughter, there." 

" You knows her name, sir, just as well as I does. 
You done knowed her from the day she's born. Her 
name Catharine — why, what you gwine say 'bout 
her?" 

" I say she's a devilish likely girl, and I " 

" Now, mass'r I wants to tell you — if you ever comes 
a foolin' round her, you'll be sorry. You know I 
never said I'd do a thing, but I done it, or least ways, 
tried ; and if my girl ever consents to your mean ways, 
I'll kill her or you — one. I ruther die a peaceable 
death 'an to be hung, but just as sure as you meddles 
with my daughter, I'll do what I say. I ain't gwine to 
see her like the other girls yer, whar you been the 
means o' gettin' all cut to pieces." 

The master walked away. He had listened to such 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 353 

a lecture as he seldom received ; and from that time he 
ceased to torment the resolute woman that dared to 
speak the truth even to his face. Vina was very im- 
pudent. He might have killed her on the spot ; but 
she knew he would not strike her. Her just and fear- 
less words, slave though she was, shielded herself and 
the daughter that she loved from further insults. 

Notwithstanding that during their absence their 
cabin had been robbed of nearly all its comforts, yet 
on their return from their unfortunate journey North- 
ward, Vina and her family resumed their former in- 
dustrious habits. The boys cultivated their patches 
as had been their custom, and saved every penny 
which they gained, in order to fulfil their father's in- 
junction — to provide every thing needful for their 
mother's comfort. Meantime, Yina and Catharine 
labored faithfully both nights and Sundays, and the 
well-mended garments and warm stockings that the 
brothers wore testified to the skill with which their 
fingers wrought. 

During the summer of 1853 the patches yielded 
well, and the people had all their little crops secured 
before Christmas. They were obliged to sell them to 
their master, as had ever been his rule; and when 
they were all ready, the overseer weighed the corn 
and cotton they had raised, and promised them to see 
that all was right. The master affected to rejoice in 
their success ; and told them to come -to him the first 
day of Christmas, and he would pay them. 

Accordingly, when Christmas came they all, accom- 
panied by the overseer, went to the house to receive 
their money. 

" Well, well," said the master, " I havn't got the 



354 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

money now ; but I'll tell you what I'll do. Every one 
of you, big and "little, that wants to go to town, may 
go to-morrow,— and I'll go too, and pay you all in 
town. I've got the promise of some money that is 
due me there to-morrow." 

"Aha!" said Yina, as they came away, "I know 
how it will be — you all won't git no money to-morrow. 
He aint gwine pay no money, and I wont go." 

But her companions could not believe that their 
master would thus deceive them ; and the next morn- 
ing the whole plantation force climbed into the huge 
wagons and took the road to Tuscumbia. 

To one unused to Christmas sights in slave-land a 
more grotesque spectacle than was presented by these 
loaded wagons could scarcely be imagined. There 
were old women with red and yellow turbans — stiff- 
starched and tall — and a score of boys and girls — some 
with bare heads, and others glorying in comical old 
rimless hats and bonnets, in styles unknown to Paris 
milliners. 

Then there were sage uncles and prim young girls 
who were anxious to show off their best behavior 
"gwine to town" — and these sat up stately and stiff; 
while those less dignified, with laugh, and song, and 
frolic, and grimace, reminded them that " Christmas 
time" would not last all the year. 

The master met them as he had promised at the 
store of Mr. N — , and there, instead of paying them 
the money, he selected a lot of poor damaged calico, 
and called the women to choose each of them a dress. 
They looked at each other in consternation. Here 
was the fruit of all their toil ! Nights and holidays 
they had spent for this — a few yards of mean thin 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 355 

calico, that would not pay for making up. Their eyes 
rolled angrily and their lips pouted the displeasure 
which they dared not speak ; and so the calico was 
measured off, though in their hearts they scorned the 
mean-spirited wretch who could thus stoop to cheat 
them. 

One or two, however, rebelled. Catharine went 
quietly and selected something for herself. " Ugh I" 
said her master, "that's too dear." 

" Well," said she, "if I can't have that, I don't want 
none at all." 

He finally yielded and allowed her to take what 
she had chosen. But when Amanda, a middle-aged 
woman, followed her example, and sought such goods 
as would make comfortable clothes for her children, 
he swore she should take such as the others had, or 
none at all. 

"No, sir," said she, "I wouldn't walk out de store 
with such stuff as dat dar. I done worked hard all 
clis year to make a crap, and I don't want to be cheated 
now. I got a house full of chillern, and dey's all 
mighty nigh naked, and I want something decent to 
make clothes for 'em.'' 

" Hush your mouth ! you huzzy !" cried her master, 
" 3^011 shall take what I give you." 

" Well, sir, if you dont git me what I want, I'll git 
it 'fore de year's out. If I can't git full pay for my 
crap one way, I will another." 

He raised his hand to strike her. 

" I don't keer if you does whip me. I'm gwine to 
have my rights if I cun git 'em." 

This peculiar shopping ended, the whole company 
returned home in ill humor. "I told you so," said 



356 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

Vina, " I knowed he wasn't gwine to pay you all for 
yer craps. He didn't have no money promised him 
in town, no how. That's the reason -I wouldn't go. 
I wasn't gwine to foller him off to town for money, 
when I knowed he wasn't gwine to give it." 

. Yina had not been many months on the island before 
her mistress began to wish for her presence on the 
home place. She was an excellent nurse in sickness, 
and for many years she had been called in to wait 
upon any of the white family that chanced to be ill ; 
and so faithful and competent was she, that when 
Yina was in the sick-room the mother felt no uneasi- 
ness. Among the slaves her field was wider, for there, 
unless in extraordinary cases, she was both doctor and 
nurse. 

At last Mrs. McKiernan told her husband that they 
must get Yina back, or they never should raise any 
more children. " The trouble with them commenced," 
said she, "when Yina and her family first ran off, 
and since that time there has been nothing but bad 
luck with both the women and children. There's 
Delphia might have been alive now if it hadn't been 
for those fools of doctors." 

" Well, Vina," said the master, when she had been 
more than two years on the island, "how would you 
like to go back to the low place?" 

"I don't keer 'bout gwine back, sir." 

" But your mistress says she would like to have you 
back. Several of the women will be sick soon, and 
she wants you there." 

" I don't want nuthin' to do with 'em, sir ; you done 
sent me off yer out o' spite, and now the sick ones may 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 357 

take care o their selves. I ain't gwine to be mnnin' 
after 'em." 

"Well, if you don't go now, you may not get a 
chance when you do want to go." 

" I don't keer nuthin' 'bout it, sir; I don't want to 
go thar, never." 

After a few weeks, however, she packed up the few 
cooking utensils which she had there with two or three 
other articles of furniture, and went home to the cabin 
which Peter had built for her so many years before. 
Still she was dark and gloomy — her heart had lost its 
light ; and though she did not quite despair, yet her 
chance of meeting her beloved husband seemed to 
lessen day by day. But now there was much sickness 
on the place ; and in sympathy with the suffering of 
her sisters, she found transient forgetfulness of her own 
griefs. 

Delphia, to whom reference was made by Mrs. Mc- 
Kiernan, died a few days after Vina ran off ; and her 
story, though it reveals a course of cruelty too base 
even for savages, shows but another phase of slavery. 

Smith, the overseer, at that time, was severe, as has 
before been stated, only towards children, or those 
women who were afraid of him. " He knowed," says 
Yina, " the people mostly would fight him if he tried 
to beat 'em, and so he managed to do without much 
beatin'. But them whar's feared of him fared mons's 
hard — 'pears like he never knows when to stop, if he 
gits mad at one o' them kind." 

Smith had a great deal of company on Sundays ; 
and as the overseers are furnished by their employers 
with corn and bacon for their families, as well as flour, 



358 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

coffee, and sugar, so many guests were quite expensive 
to Mr. McKiernan. 

One Sunday afternoon, he walked down to the quar- 
ter, and saw two horses hitched at the overseer's gate. 

" AY hose horses are these ?" asked he of a group of 
women that stood near. 

Delphia chanced to reply. 

" Smith has a heap of company, don't he?" said the 
master. 

" Yes, sir," said Delphia, " last Sunday thar was six 
horses hitched to his fence, and every one of 'em was 
carried off, and fed." 

Some evil-minded tale-bearer took the first oppor- 
tunity to report this conversation to the overseer ; and 
he was enraged. 

A few days after, the master plainly expressed his 
opinion to Mr. Smith respecting the number of his 
guests, adding that he knew it was so, for he saw them 
there himself. 

" You did not see them," said Smith, " you were not 
in sight when they were here. Some nigger has told 
you ; and it is no other than that lying, tattling wench, 
Delphia." 

From that hour he vowed vengeance on the poor 
woman ; swearing at the same time there were other 
ways to kill a cow besides shooting her or knocking 
her in the head. 

Thereafter, he never gave Delphia a moment's rest. 
She was one of the plow women ; and though she was 
not in a condition to bear extreme fatigue, he com- 
pelled her day after day to plow with her mule in a 
trot. She dared not stop, for his eye was ever on her ; 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 359 

and when the other women told her she was killing 
herself, she only replied, " You know how Smith hates 
me, and he will beat me to death if I don't mind him." 

Thus week after week, she ran all day in the plow, 
till at last she was forced to stop, and she went, with 
her mule, to the quarter. Smith was at his house, and 
he saw her coming. 

" What are you there for ;" cried he. 

"I'm sick, sir, I can't work." 

" No, you're not sick. You need n't put out your 
mule — tie him there ; and in just two hours you shall 
go out again. I'll give you that long to rest." 

She went into her cabin, and in less than two hours 
the doctor was sent for. Before night, poor Delphia 
lay still and cold in death, with her dead baby by her 
side. 

As two of her fellow-slaves were digging her grave 
the overseer came up. He jumped down into the nar- 
row house they were hollowing for his victim — 
" There," said he with an oath, " this is the place where 
all liars and tattlers ought to go." 

But that not the overseers alone were spiteful and 
even murderous in their barbarity, may be inferred 
from the following incident, which occurred soon after 
Yina went home from the island. 

A woman, named Leah, was taken sick in the field, 
and her master being near, she went to him for permis- 
sion to go to the house. 

" What the devil do you want to go to the house 
for?" 

" I 'm sick, sir." 

"Sick, d — n you! go to work; and if I hear any 
more of your complaining, I'll give you something to 



360 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

complain about." So saying, lie gave her a few cuts 
with his cowhide, in token of what she might expect 
if she repeated her request, and she went back. 

But she grew worse ; and not daring to leave the 
field without permission, she went again to her master. 

"It's a devilish lie. You are not sick; if you are, 
I can cure you." With these words he flew at her, 
and beat her cruelly; after wMch, with kicks and 
curses, he sent her back to her work. 

It was impossible for her to remain much longer. 
She started to leave the field, and Vina, who had been 
a witness of the scene, followed her to her cabin. We 
give what followed in her own words. 

" In about a half hour, her child was born, and such 
a sight as that child was would make any person cry 
that has any heart at all. * * * * * 

The overseer's wife was thar, and she was shocked 
mightily. She called her husband, and he come and 
looked at it; and two gentlemen, whar was thar a 
visitin' him, they see it too ; and they all 'lowed they 
never see nuthin' like it in all their lives. 

"Well, I staid, and done all I could for Leah, and 
dressed the baby — for it was livin' after all, and when 
I got all done, I went up to the house to tell Missus. 
Mass'r was a sittin' by, but I never stopped for him — 
I told her the whole story, and all about the beatin' 
too. She hated it mightily, partic'lar when I told her 
'bout the overseer and them other two white men seein' 
it. 'That's just like you,' says she to Mass'r, 'you're 
always bringing some disgrace on this plantation. The 
report of this will go all over the country.' 

" * Why, I did'nt know she was sick/ says he. 



CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 361 

" ' Yes, you did know it, she told you she was sick, 
and if she had not, you might have known better than 
to beat her so, and she in such a state. You did it on 
purpose to disgrace yourself, and the plantation, it is 
just like you. I'll order my carriage, and go away 
till the talk about this is wer. It is just the way you 
always do — just like you.' 

" That's all the comfort Leah srot from Missus. She 
was mighty sorry to have folks know such works was 
a gwine on, but she didn't never do much for them 
whar was a sufferin'. If she could keep cl'ar o' the 
disgrace, that thar was all she cared for. 

"Leah's baby lived a week, and I reckon it was a 
good thing it died, for 'peared like it suffered a heap 
all the time. Oh ! it aint no wonder so many o' their 
chillun dies, its more wonder that any of 'em lives 
when the women has to b'ar so much." 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE RE-UNION. 

Towakds the close of the year 1854, their being no 
immediate need of Vina's presence on the " low place," 
she went back to the island. Susanna had died during 
the summer, and now the boys were both with their 
mother, leaving Catharine sole- tenant of the old home 
cabin. 

" The island," although it was five miles above the 
home plantation, was not a lonely place. There were 
good neighbors on the river bank opposite, and with 
some of these, the slaves who were kept here, formed 
lasting friendships ; even Yina, though she had been 
so morose and sad during these last years, had not been 
unmindful of the sympathy of her own people. 

On Sunday morning, December seventeenth, as she 
was sitting alone in her cabin, a woman belonging to 
Mr. Hawkins, who owned a plantation on the North 
bank of the river, came over to pay her a visit. 

"What do you think, Yina?" said she, as soon as 
she was sure there were no listeners, "I heard a great 
secret in town last night." 

" Oh, I don't know what I thinks till I yers what 
it's about," replied Yina. 

" Well, Peter's sent for you all ! and dar's a man in 

[362] 



THE RE- UNION. 363 

town what's come from some place \vay off to de Norf 
dar, to tote you all off." 

"How does you know?" asked Vina, ker eyes dilated, 
and ker wkole frame trembling witk excitement. 

" Wky, I's to town last nigkt to Mr. Simpson's store, 
and I }^er Mr. Simpson say so kisself. Dej all's a 
makin' out de papers, and dey'll send for you 'fore * 
many days." 

Tke visitor soon departed, and Vina sat down to 
tkink, but ker brain wkirled, and ske was glad wken 
ker sons came in, tkat ske migkt skare witk tkem tke 
great joy tkat was swelling in ker keart. Ske did not 
for one moment doubt tke trutk of tke report, for it 
was wkat ske kad expected. poor faitkful loving 
keart ! tkou kast borne grief witk patience, wait but a 
little longer, and tky joy skall overflow. 

Tke motker and ker sons now keld a consultation 
on tke most judicious course for tkem to take; and 
they determined to say notking on tke subject until 
tkey skould kear more. Catkarine tkey could not see 
before tke next Sunday. Ok, kow tkey wisked tkat 
ske could skare tkis joy. 

On Monday morning, tkey went to work, as usual. 
Tke brigkt glad kope witk wkick tkeir kearts were 
warm skone not in tkeir dark faces, tkey kad schooled 
tkeir features to wear ever tke same calm look. Full 
well tkey knew tkat any ckange of countenance migkt 
be construed into a token of some bidden kope. Slaves 
must not seem to kope for augkt save Ckristmas Holi- 
days, tkougk tkey may laugk, and dance, and sing, 
so tkey evince no thought beyond tke present. 

Soon after midnigkt tke next Wednesday, tke island 
people were all called up. Tkey were to kill kogs tkat 



364 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

day, and every one upon the place was obliged to be 
in motion. 

Great fires were built here and there for scalding the 
fated animals, and sharp knives, gleaming in their 
strange light, seemed impatient to begin the sport. 
Soon all was noise and bustle. The merry butchers 
talked and laughed, their victims squealed, and grave 
old women scolded at the trifling of the youngsters ; for 
though the day's work was no trifle, it was a change 
in their monotonous life, and fun and frolic reigned. 

About ten o'clock in the morning, Yina, who amid 
all the confusion, was watching for a messenger, saw 
her master coming up the hill from the river. He 
walked towards the cabins, and soon called — "Vina! 
Yina!" 

She strove to quell the tumultuous throbbings of her 
heart, and she succeeded in subduing all appearance 
of emotion — so that when she reached the spot where 
the master stood, her face was calm, and her voice was 
clear as usual. 

"Well, Yina," said he, "how would you like to 
see Peter ?" 

" Mons's well, Sir," replied she. 

" Do you know where he is ?" 

" I reckon, sir, he's in Cincinnati." 

" No — he lives in Philadelphia, and he's bought 
you all." 

" Bought us I" 

" Yes, he's bought you ; — how would you like to go 
to him ?" 

" Why, if it's true, sir, I'd like to go mighty well." 

" If its true ? — don't you believe it ?" 

" I don't know, sir, whether I believes it or not." 



THE RE-UNION. 365 

"Well, don't you suppose I can sell you if I 
choose? — Don't you belong to me ?" 

11 Yes, sir, I know you can." 

" Well, if you want to go, make haste and get your- 
selves ready ; for I've got to carry you all over to 
Florence to-night. There's a man there, who has come 
for you — he can tell you all about Peter. You ought 
to have been there before now, but you are all so 
devilish hard to hear that I had to hallo there for 
a boat, 'till I'm right hoarse." 

" We didn't hear you, Sir — the hogs kept such a 
fuss." 

" I know — I know — but you all must hurry your- 
selves now." 

He then went to the boys, and told the news to 
them ; but they, too, made strange of it, and seemed 
to doubt his words. 

" Well," said he, " you all act like you don't 
believe me — now, I'm no ways anxious to sell you, 
and if you don't want to go, you can stay. But if 
you do want to go, you must get. ready devilish quick, 
for I must have you in Florence- to-night ; and we 
must cross the river before dark." 

The mother and her sons entered their cabin, and 
hastily gathering up such of their things as they could 
carry easiest, they hastened to the river. Among 
their fellow- slaves were many whom they counted 
friends, but even to these they had no time to say 
" Good bye." Crossing to the main land in a canoe, 
they sprang into the wagon which waited for them 
there, and drove toward home, the master riding by 
their side. 

As soon as they arrived at the quarter, he called the 



366 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

overseer. " See here, Smith, get on your horse, and 
go quick and tell Catharine to come here. Jlide fast ; 
for I'm in a devil of a hurry." 

Away went the overseer to the clearing, where he 
found Catharine busy chopping down a tree. " Here, 
Girl," cried he, "give me your axe — go quick to the 
house — you're sold, and your master sent me for you 
in a hurry." 

Half bewildered, yet guessing the truth, Catharine 
walked as fast as possible towards the quarter. Her 
mother's figure was the first that met her eye. Then 
her pulse beat quicker — she bounded towards her. 

"Mother, what is it?" 

"Why, yer father's sent for us, chile — least w ays 
Mass'r says so." 

" Has he clone bought us ?" 

" Yes ; so your Mass'r says." 

" I don't want no more !" cried the girl, as with 
eager hands she assisted her mother in their hasty 
preparations. 

The master remained in sight, and every minute 
shouted to them to hurry, or they could not cross the 
river ; thus confusing them so that they could think 
of nothing. Vina wished to see her mistress, who 
owed her about three dollars for chickens, and had 
promised her the money on Christmas. Vina knew 
that she would not refuse to pay her now, but Mr. 
McKiernan would not let her go. " Never mind," 
said he, " I'll pay you when we get to town." 

" Wouldn't you like to take your little grandchild 
with you ?" asked the master. 

" Yes, sir," said Yina, " if I could — how much you 
ask for him ?" 



THE RE-UNION. 367 

"Oh, a trifle!" replied he, "I'd sell him to you 
for a trifle — perhaps a hundred dollars." 

"Well, Sir, here's all my things; they cost a heap 
o' money, and, if I had time, I could sell 'em all." 

"I'll pay you for them when we get to town: but 
come — hurry yourself." 

Vina understood the value of his promise to pay 
her for the goods she left behind; but she was help- 
less. She threw a change of clothes for each of them 
into her trunk— she had no time to select the bes^— 
and tying up her feather bed which Peter had bought 
for her nine years before, she said " Good bye" to a 
few mothers, who chanced just then to come in 
from the field to nurse their babies, and left her 
cabin — to return no more. 

Notwithstanding all their haste, they were not in 
time to cross the river before dark; and so they 
staid at Mr. Wm. Jackson's till morning, when they 
went into town. 

They stopped at Mr. Simpson's store, where the 
papers were to be signed; and here they saw the 
young gentleman who had been sent for them. 

It was a cold raw, day, and the slaves were shivering 
in their plantation clothes. " I wish, Sir," said Vina 
to her master, as they stood in the chilling wind, 
"you'd give me money enough to buy me a thick 
shawl." 

"Why, Girl," said he, "I could n't do it. I came 
from home in such a hurry, that I did n't have time to 
get any small change— I have nothing with me less 
than a ten-dollar bill." 

" Seems to me," said his son-in-law, who stood by, 
" these niggers are poorly dressed to be for sale ; you ' 



368 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

might get her the shawl now, and pay for it some 
other time," 

"Oh!" said Mr. McKiernan, "they've got better 
clothes, but they won't put them on." 

Yina thought of his j)romise to pay her for the 
chickens, and also for the goods she left behind ; but 
she determined not to ask him again, herself. So 
when she saw a crowd of gentlemen standing around, 
she sent Peter to tell him that she wanted the money 
for the chickens. 

" Why, Boy," said he, feeling in his pocket, " I have 
no money smaller than ten dollars." 

Yina was listening. "Yes," cried she, when she 
heard his answer, " so I thought when you would n't 
let me stop to see Missus. I knowed you was n't 
gwine pay me in town." 

" McKiernan, d — n it," said one that stood by "why 
don't you give your servants something? You ought 
to give them a present for the good they've done 
you." 

He muttered something to himself, but made no 
answer. 

After awhile Peter went to him again, and asked 
him how much he would take for his baby. Poor Susan- 
na's dying words rang in his ears, and it seemed as if 
he could not go and leave her child, that she had so 
solemnly committed to his charge. 

"The baby, eh? Oh, you may have it for two 
hundred dollars." 

The young father's hopes were dashed. He could 
not raise so large a sum as he had learned that the 
funds sent by his father were barely sufficient to defray 
the travelling expenses of the family. 



THE EE- UNION. 369 

"I say, McKiernan," said a gentleman in the crowd, 
who pitied the distress of the slave-father, "I think 
you ought to give that old woman her grandchild — 
I heard you say she has always been a good serv- 
ant—that you never struck her a lick, and that she 
never deserved one— and that her family have always 
behaved themselves well. Give them the little one for 
good measure." 

" Oh, I'll sell the child cheap to them." 

"Ha! sell it! They've no money to buy it. Give 
it to them — that would be no more than fair." 

Said another, "Where in the world did Peter get 
the money to buy his family?" 

" Oh," replied McKiernan, "he's got rich relations; 
his friends are all wealthy. I saw one of his brothers 
last year in Philadelphia — "William Still is his name. 
He is rich, and a devilish likely fellow too. He keeps 
the Anti-Slavery Office. I was in there twice, myself, 
arid I saw him write a hand that I could n't beat, nor 
you either." 

" What office, did you say ?" 

" The Anti-Slavery Office. Ha ! ha ! I was as good 
an Abolitionist as any of them while I was there. I 
tell you— that William Still is a fine fellow. Another 
of the brothers has a store, and Peter I believe owns 
half of it." 

The business was at last concluded, and soon after 
the stage drove up that was to convey them to East- 
port. There they were to take the boat which could 
come up no higher on account of the low state of the 
water in the river. 

" When we got in the stage," says Vina, " I felt free. 
'Peared like I didn't weigh no more'n a feather." 
16* 



370 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

" Aha 1" said Catharine, looking down with ineffable 
contempt upon her soiled and tattered garb, " reckon 
when I git whar father is, I'll drap off these old duds." 

"Why?" said her mother, I don't reckon he's got 
any new clothes for you." 

" But didn't Mass'r say he got a store ?" 

" Pshaw ! child, don't believe all he says." 

" I believe that, for he never would have said such 
a thing, if it wasn't so." 

The young gentleman who had them in charge was 
closely questioned by the Captain of the boat, and by 
sundry other officious persons at Waterloo — a little 
village on the north side of the river, nearly opposite 
Eastport. He was, however, allowed to go on board 
with them, and they were glad, for soon they had their 
supper— the first food they had tasted since daylight 
in the morning. 

All went smoothly till they reached Paducah. Here 
they were obliged to change boats, and again was their 
young guardian subjected to a series of impertinent 
questioning, as to what he was going to do with the 
negroes, &c. He at length succeeded in transferring 
his charge to a Louisville boat ; but the captain of this 
was exceedingly uneasy about the slaves — he having 
seen them when Mr. McKiernan was conveying them 
back to slavery — nearly four years before. This young 
man was evidently from the North ; indeed he did not 
scruple to confess it; and if he should be running these 
niggers off, and if his boat should bear him on in the 
commission of such treason against the Constitution and 
the Union, alas ! what ruin would ensue. Yet he had 
straight papers, and did not act in the least like an 
Abolitionist so after much deliberation, he concluded 



THE RE- UNION. 371 

to let tliem come on board ; but at the same time be 
resolved to watch tliem well, lest tbe fellow should 
play some Yankee trick 

They arrived at Louisville iu safety, and lost no 
time in seeking a boat for Cincinnati. But lo! the 
valorous captain of the packet they had just left was 
there before them, and his sage warning procured from 
the commander of the Cincinnati boat a stout refusal 
to take them on. Their young guardian was now 
sorely perplexed; but fortunately he recollected that 
he had an acquaintance in Louisville, who was a mer- 
chant of some note. To this gentleman he hastened 
in his extremity, and by his influence with the cau- 
tious captain, he at length secured a passage for him- 
self and the four ransomed slaves to Cincinnati. 

The nearer they approached the end of their long 
journey, the more restless and impatient grew the 
mother. She had learned to bear suspense and sor- 
row. She had waited and been patient ; but this rapid 
and sure approach towards the fulfilment of her hopes 
was strange and new. She could not eat nor sleep for 
vei 7 joy- The attention of her children, however, was 
more easily diverted by surrounding objects, and as 
the boys found occasional employment on the boat, 
the hours to them were far from wearisome. 

They all suffered exceedingly from cold. Their 
clothes were thin and old ; but what cared he who 
clutched in his hard grasp the avails of all their years 
of toil, beside the five thousand dollars for their ran- 
som?— what cared he if they should perish by the 
way ? He held the gold. 

It was the morning of the Sabbath — the last day of 



372 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. 

the year 1854. Peter rose very early, and walked 
down to the wharf. He had been in Cincinnati for a 
week, waiting to greet his loved ones — how long the 
honrs had seemed while his heart trembled between 
hope and fear. One hour he felt sure that he should 
soon clasp in his fond arms the precious forms of wife 
and children — the next, a hundred fears arose that all 
his hopes, even now, were doomed to disappointment. 
He had not heard from them since from the papers he 
had learned of their return to slavery, perhaps — Oh ! 
how the thought now shook the fabric of his hopes — 
perhaps to torture and to death. Four summers had 
passed since then — four seasons where fearful sickness 
is wont to make its annual visits to the dark, unhealthy 
quarters of the slave. 

But on this holy Sabbath morning, these fears no 
longer vexed him; for but a few hours had passed 
since the telegraph had brought him tidings of the safe 
approach of those for whom he waited. 

He stepped on board the "Northerner," and the 
first man he met was the agent of Mr. Hallowell. A 
moment more, and wife and daughter — both were 
clasped to his true heart, while on each side his manly 
sons, with grateful reverence, gazed upon their father's 
face. 

In that embrace no toil or sorrow was remembered ; 
their swelling hearts had only room for love and grati- 
tude, and praise to Him who had not betrayed their 
trust. 

At the home of Levi Coffin the ransomed family 
were welcome ; and as that good man himself received 
them there, his kind heart thrilled with a delicious joy, 
in which the angels sympathized. 



THE RE-UNION. 373 

Eest ye, poor hunted ones. No more shall " Chris- 
tian wolves" prowl along your pathway, for the golden 
hand of charity hath taken from their cruel fangs the 
power to do you harm. Aye, ye are free ! How 
changed from the poor trembling fugitives that so 
lately feared the echo of yonr own unequal footsteps. 
Eejoice! for gold hath power when justice fails. Be 
glad ! for mercy lives, though on the fairest portion of 
our country's wide domain her hands are chained — her 
tongue is silent. 

The news of this glad re-union spread rapidly among 
the citizens of Cincinnati, and on two successive even- 
ing, public meetings were held for the benefit of the 
shivering strangers. Gifts of warm clothing, and of 
money to defray the expenses of their journey onward, 
were gladly offered by those who love to " clothe the 
naked," and who rejoice in the "setting at liberty of 
those who were bound." Many worthy persons also 
proposed to entertain the family at their houses, but 
being already settled at Mr. Coffin's, they deemed it 
wisest to remain there during their stay in town. 

On the third of January they left for Pittsburg. 
There, also, they were received with joy ; for Peter's 
story had found interested listeners in that city, as he 
had passed to and fro between Cincinnati and Phila- 
delphia. 

While they remained at Pittsburg, a meeting was 
held for them in the Bethel Church, at which the 
whole family appeared in the clothes they wore from 
the plantation. The grateful joy of the father, which 
beamed so brightly from his smiling face, and the 
shrinking modesty of those who had been redeemed 
from bondage through his patient efforts, will be long 



874 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. 

remembered by those kind friends who there offered 
them the greetings of the free. 

On the tenth, the travellers reached Philadelphia, 
but here they made no stop. Poor Vina was, by this 
time, quite worn out by excitement and fatigue, and 
all the family were suffering from colds contracted on 
the river. So they hastened on to Burlington, where 
Peter had previously made provision for their recep- 
tion in the family of a colored friend. 

Often, during Peter's weary wanderings here and 
there, while collecting money for the ransom of his 
family, was the momentous question asked, " What will 
they do when they are free ?" To answer this import- 
ant inquiry is all that now remains. 

The first few days were spent by the re-united 
family in resting from the tedious journey, and in ren- 
dering themselves presentable to the new relatives and 
friends that longed to greet them. Then came the 
delightful visit to Peter's aged mother. She had heard 
of their arrival in Cincinnati, and had been, for some 
days, expecting them at her home. 

We need not picture the glad meeting of the vene- 
rable woman with the wife and children of her long- 
lost son. The sight of their happy faces filled her 
heart with holy gratitude ; for in each form so lately 
released from slavery's hated chains, she saw a living 
witness of her Great Father's love. Year after year 
her heart had sorrowed for her sons ; and now, like 
Israel to Joseph, she could say, "I had not thought to 
see thy face, and lo, God hath showed me also thy 
seed." 

But even in that glad circle beat one sorrowing 



THE RE- UNION. 875 

heart. Young Peter turned sadly from the joyful 
greetings of his new-found kindred, for the sound of a 
little voice rang in his ears. u Iam not there, my father !" 
was the wailing cry — and the last parting gift of his 
dying wife seemed stretching forth its little hands to 
claim a place among the free. Poor baby ! God for- 
bid that thou shouldest live — a slave ! Let us trust 
that in His good Providence this little one may yet be 
brought to share the blessings of that liberty which, 
without his presence his young father can never half 
enjoy. 

Early in February, Catharine went to reside with 
her uncle, "William Still, in Philadelphia, for the pur- 
pose of attending school, and also of receiving instruc- 
tion from her aunt in the practical duties of a free 
woman. 

Young Peter has obtained an advantageous situation 
in the service of Mr. Kichard Ely, at New Hope, Bucks 
county, Pa. ; and Levin is perfecting his knowledge of 
the blacksmith's trade in Beverly, 1ST. J. 

The father and mother, during the summer (1855), 
have been at service in a large boarding-house in Bur- 
lington ; and though they are not yet entirely settled, 
the arrangements are nearly completed by which, for 
the first time in their lives, they may enjoy the com- 
forts of their own home. 

"We must not omit to mention a novel marriage that 
has occurred in the family since their emancipation. 
The previous relation of the parties, as well as the 
motives which impelled them, may be gathered from 
the subjoined Certificate. 

" This is to certify that Mr. Peter Still and Lavinia, 



376 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 

his wife, having solemnly testified to tlieir lawful 
union in wedlock, which took place twenty-nine years 
ago, the twenty-fifth of last June, while in the bonds 
of Southern Slavery, in the State of Alabama, having 
now obtained their freedom, and having no certificate 
of said union, being desirous of again solemnizing their 
union in the sacred nuptial ties, were solemnly re- 
united in the bonds of marriage, on the eleventh day 
of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight 
hundred and fifty -five, by me, a duly authorized Min- 
ister of the Gospel. 

"Washington Barnhurst. 
" Burlington, Burlington Co., N. J." 

Our task is done. We have sought truthfully to 
portray the various phases of slave-life which are illus- 
trated in the history of the subjects of these "Recollec- 
tions." The facts are from the lips of Peter and his 
wife ; and are in all cases given substantially as nar- 
rated by them to the writer. If their record shall in 
any wise subserve the cause of Justice and Humanity ; 
if the perusal of these pages shall increase the reader's 
hatred of slavery, or win one manly voice or vote for 
Freedom, our labor is not lost. 



APPENDIX. 



SETH CONCKUN 

Was born February 3, 1802, at Sandy Hill, N. Y. 
Previously to her marriage his mother had been a 
teacher in the schools of Vermont. His father was a 
mechanic, who was accustomed to go South in search 
of employment. He died in Georgia, leaving his 
widow with five children, of whom Seth, then about 
fifteen years of age, was the oldest. He was not 
wholly without property, but what little he had, he 
left in charge of a man, who defrauded the family of 
every cent of it and fled to Canada. They became de- 
pendent upon the boy Seth, who took up the business 
of a pedlar, and so procured a livelihood for his mother 
and sisters. It is remembered how careful he was to 
save every penny for them, how he went upon long 
journeys, being absent for weeks at a time, how anx- 
iously his return was watched for, how highly he was 
thought of, not only by the little ones of his own 
household, but also by the children of the neighbors; 
how the children, when they descried the weary young 
pedlar returning after a long tramp, ran to meet him 
and quarrelled for his hand and lmng upon his coat. 
After a while, Mrs. Concklin was induced by some 

[377] 



378 APPENDIX. 

relatives to go to Canada. There was a more promis- 
ing prospect for her in that country. Seth procured a 
situation in a lumber yard, where his employer esteem- 
ed him so highly, that in order to keep the lad con- 
tented, he took into his family a little sister of Seth's, 

Eveline. The lumber man, Mr. W , treated him 

with uniform confidence. This man was subject to 
violent fits of intemperance, when he would fasten up 
his house and keep his wife and children in the utmost 
terror by his wild and frenzied proceedings. At such 
times Seth was the only person who had any influence 
over him. Again and again he seized his gun and 
threatened to shoot Seth, whom he charged with col- 
luding with the family against him. But the lad, as 
his sister well remembers, stood calm and unmoved by 

the threats of the madman. So fearful was Mr. "W 

in his sane moments, of being forsaken by Seth, who, 
he knew, wished to join his mother, who had sent for 
him, in Canada, that he caused the little Eveline, Seth's 
sister, to be locked up in a chamber up stairs, so that 
her brother could communicate with her only by 
climbing a tree which stood near her window. He 
seized an opportunity when his master was unable to 
rise from his bed, to take his little sister away. He 

did not go without bidding farewell to Mr. W— , . 

who paid him his wages and shed tears at parting with 
the youth. "I shall go to utter ruin now that Seth 
has left me !" the master exclaimed. 

The boy and girl set out on foot for Canada. They 
met with much kindness. Sometimes a kind woman, a 
mother, would take them in, give them food and shel- 
ter, wash the little girl and comb her hair. From 
others they received harsh words, and thus they 



SETH CONCKLIN. 379 

trudged on. They were observed and spoken of as 
"the children." For though Seth was some seventeen 
years of age, his appearance was very boyish. The 
country was then new and wild, and log houses were 
the principal habitations to be seen. In one place in 
the neighborhood of Watertown, a good woman liv-. 
ing in a neat frame house, surrounded by a large farm, 
a Mrs. Coles, treated the young travellers with especial 
kindness, took a fancy to the little Eveline, wished to 
retain and adopt her, as her own children were all 
grown up and married ; and made Seth promise that 
if he returned to the States, he would bring Eveline to 
her, and let her have the child. At this stage of the 
journey, the little girl fell sick and was worn down by 
fatigue, and grew fretful and cried a good deal, but 
Seth was anxious to reach Sackett's Harbor ; and he 
coaxed and threatened her. She remembers how they 
used to sit down by the road-side to rest, and how her 
brother used to cry, and she thought it was because 
his pack was so heavy, and she wanted him to let her 
take it, although it was beyond her strength. 

At last they reached Sackett's Harbor one afternoon. 
Seth found that the steamboat fare was higher than he 
could pay. He took his sister to a public house, bade 
her go to bed and sleep till he called her the next 
morning. The weary child slept till ten o'clock the 
next morning, and upon waking and not finding Seth, 
grew frightened and thought he had left her ; but he 
soon came. He had engaged a man with a small sail- 
boat (a smuggler), to take them across the Lake to 
Gravel Point, which they hoped to reach that same 
evening. It was September. The weather was cold, 



380 APPENDIX. 

with flurries of snow. They had been out on the 
Lake hardly an hour when a rain-storm arose, and the 
waves grew angry and dashed into the boat, so that it 
required constant bailing, and there was nothing to 
bail with but a leaky old coffee pot, and that was soon 
lost overboard. The little girl was very much fright- 
ened. She screamed and took off one of her shoes to 
bail out the water. The boat made little or no head- 
way till dark. They were all drenched to the skin, 
the water going over them all the time. Seth's sister 
remembers their getting round a dangerous point called 
Pillar Point. The opposite shore, which they were ap- 
proaching was apparently uninhabited. But, although 
the others could not see it, the little girl descried a 
small log hut in the distance. They gained the land 
at last, and the man and boy set themselves immedi- 
ately to gather sticks and wood to make a fire to warm 
and dry themselves, and keep off any wild beasts. 
Eveline, however, entreated them so earnestly to go in 
the direction in which she insisted she had seen the log 
hut, that at last they yielded. After walking some 
distance, it appeared in sight, and they found that she 
had not been mistaken. At the hut they found a 
young married couple, squatters, who had been settled 
there only a few months, and who received them with 
a hospitable welcome. The woman said she had seen 
their boat while it was daylight, and had watched it for 
some time. This couple had their chief dependence 
for food upon game. The only eatable they had in the 
house was some wheat flour. The woman made bread 
for them and for their supply on the morrow. She 
divided her bedclothes with them. The hut was so 



SETH CONCKLIN. 381 

low that a man could hardly stand erect in it. There 
was no chimney ; a fire was made at one end, and the 
smoke found its way out through the roof. 

The next day they started by the lake for Gravel 
Point, and arrived at sunset. The weather had cleared. 
As they were approaching land, they saw a two-horsed 
wagon just starting for Kingston, some four or five 
miles distant. Seth was so anxious to secure a seat in 
the wagon for his sister, that when they got into shal- 
low water, he bade her take off her shoes and stock- 
ings. They both jumped into the water and ran to 
overtake the wagon. There were a number of men 
with it, but they refused to let her ride, as, they said, 
the road was new and very bad, scarcely a road — they 
were carrying rails to prop and lift the wagon — they 
doubted whether they should be able to go through. 
They took no notice of Seth and his sister. The mud 
was so cleejD — Seth sinking into it over his boots — that 
he took the little girl in his arms ; who with his bag- 
gage made a heavy burthen. She begged to be put 
down. At last she was allowed to walk, and tried to 
jump from log to log, but she fell again and again into 
the mud and was completely covered with it. It be- 
gan to grow dark. They got to Kingston, however, 
before the wagon. At the ferry a fat, good-natured 
old woman insisted upon taking off the child's clothes, 
giving her a good washing, and wrapping her up in a 
buffalo skin. 

The young travellers reached Kingston at two 
o'clock in the morning ; and with the assistance of a 
watchman, found the dwelling of a Mr. Koleau, with 
whom their mother lodged. She received her two 
children with great emotion, laughing and weeping 



382 APPENDIX. 

hysterically. She had been sick, but was on the re- 
covery. During her illness her business, keeping a 
small shop, had gone to ruin, and she was earning 
bread for her children with her needle. 

Eveline was ill for three months, from the cold and 
fatigue of the journey. Seth took to peddling again, 
through the approaching winter and the following sum- 
mer. But the winter after that, the second in Canada, 
he became discouraged. One day he brought back 
such a pittance that he threw down his pack, and said 
he would never take it up again. He knew not what 
to do. Occasionally he found some transient employ- 
ment. He searched the newspapers diligently to seize 
upon what might offer. One day, in looking over a 
newspaper, he found something about a haunted house. 
"Here's a ghost story!" he said to his mother and 
brothers and sisters, "come, let me read it to you." 
It turned out to be an advertisement of a house in 
Sackett's Harbor, which had the reputation of being 
haunted, and in which the owner was willing that any 
one should live, rent free, until the place should get a 
better name. Seth exclaimed: "I'll go take that 
house, and we shall have nothing to pay." He started 
instantly for Sackett's Harbor, with the consent of his 
mother (they had no fear of ghosts), and returned in 
three days, having found and engaged the house in the 
suburbs of the place ; large and commodious, originally 
built for an hotel. 

While the family were preparing to leave Kingston, 
a robbery was committed on the money-drawer of the 
shop, adjoining the house where the Concklins lived. 
Seth was arrested and put in jail on suspicion of being 
the thief. The sole ground of the charge, thus brought 



SETH CONCKLIN. 383 

against him by the shopkeeper, was that Seth being 
well acquainted with his two sons, had often been in 
the shop and knew where the money was kept. The 
family felt keenly the shame of such a charge ; and 
some of their best friends grew cool. Seth, however, 
fearless in the consciousness of his integrity, was con- 
vinced that he would be acquitted, and begged his 
mother not to be detained by his trial, which was not 
to take place for some weeks ; but to go immediately 
to their new residence in Sackett's Harbor. Accord- 
ingly she started ; it was the spring of the year ; the 
snow was all gone. But just as she had got on board 
the vessel with all her baggage, and with her five chil- 
dren, a man came running to inform her that Seth was 
to have a hearing, and she must return. There was 
nothing to be done but to let the children (the oldest 
of whom was a girl of about twelve years of age), go 
alone with the baggage. The mother gave this child 
some money and every possible direction, and the 
strictest charges to make no fire and light no candle in 
the house till she came. They were to live on bread 
and milk. One of the children, a little boy, was sick, 
and had to be carried in the arms of his little sisters all 
the way. The party of little ones reached Sackett's 
Harbor in safety, attracting much curiosity and kind- 
ness on board the boat. The haunted house belonged 
to a Mr. Comstock, but a person by the name of 
Parker had care of it. Lydia left the other children 
in the boat and went to look after the house. In about 
a couple of hours she returned with the key, and a 
man and cart to take their baggage. As they were on 
the way to their new tenement, an old man met them 
who proved to be a quack doctor, who, struck by the 



3S4 APPENDIX. 

youth and -unprotected condition of the little group, 
carrying with them a sick child, stopped and questioned 
them, took the sick one in his arms, and went with 
them to the house. It soon became dark. The chil- 
dren had no supper. The old doctor said they must 
have a light. But the children would not listen to it. 
It would be against the express commands of their 
mother, who feared probably that they might catch the 
house or themselves on fire. The doctor expostulated, 
but to no purpose. Mother had forbidden it. He was, 
it seems, an oddity. His speeches set the children a 
laughing. He suspected, he said, that the house really 
was haunted, and that these little things were the 
ghosts — they were so afraid of light. He guessed 
they had an invisible mother. 

Three times a day for ten days, till the mother joined 
her children (Seth having been fully acquitted), the 
good man visited them, bringing them soup, etc., and 
nursing the sick child. As soon as their mother ar- 
rived, she unpacked her trunks and furniture, and 
made the place a good deal more comfortable. As she 
was seated at her first meal with the children, in came 
the doctor, and stood staring at the party without say- 
ing a word. " I was wondering," he said at last to 
Mrs. Concklin, "whether you were a ghost or a real 
woman." 

The mother brought to her children the cheering in- 
telligence that Seth would be with them in three 
weeks. Eveline, then about eleven years of age, with 
her little brother George, kept watch on the shore of 
the Lake, as the time drew nigh for the coming of 
Seth. At last they recognized his figure, before they 
could see his features, on board of a vessel that was 



SETH COlv'CKLIX. 385 

approaching, and on which lie worked his passage. 
At this period the family was tolerably comfortable 
and happy. Seth got work. They lived in "the 
haunted house ? ' one year. Then, as the owner con- 
sidered the good character of the place established, he 
required them to pay rent. It was too high for their 
means, and they removed. 

Seth, recollecting his promise to Mrs. Coles, the good 
woman who had been so kind to him and taken such 
a liking for the little Eveline when they stopt at her 
house on their way to Canada, advised his mother to 
send Eveline to that lady. She acceded, and the child 
was sent by the stage, and received b} r Mrs. Coles with 
the most cordial of welcomes, and adopted as her own, 
and taught many things. The child was happy here 
and the next winter, Mr. Coles, a worthy and elderly 
man, took her in a sleigh to see her mother. Upon 
her visit home, Eveline found Seth a soldier. Her 
mother was declining, and Seth, having the offer of a 
place as a substitute, enlisted for one year, nine months, 
nineteen days in Company B. By cooking for the com- 
pany, Seth greatly increased his income, and was better 
able to assist his mother. As he was not allowed to 
leave the garrison, Mr. Coles took Eveline to see Seth 
and she recollects how the old man who was a methodist 
gave Seth his blessing for being such a good son and 
brother. 

The next fall, of the eight hundred men in garrison 
at Sackett's Harbor, four hundred were drafted to go 
to St. Mary's (understood to be a thousand miles off,) 
and Seth being young and unmarried, among the num- 
ber. He endeavored to be excused but without success. 
17 



386 APPENDIX. 

The hope was cherished that he might be induced to 
re-enlist when his time was out. His mother parted 
with him with a heavy heart. She told the children 
she should never see him again. 

With the help of her eldest daughter, the mother 
was enabled to do something for the support of her 
children, making sun-bonnets. Seth sent them nearly 
all his wages, and kept them so well supplied with 
money that when his mother shortly after fell sick, and 
after an illness of eight weeks, died, there was money 
enough in the house for all the frugal wants of its in- 
mates, and for the expenses incurred by her sickness 
and burial. In this her last illness, she talked only of 
her absent son, and her dying injunction to her little 
ones was to obey Seth in all things. 

Upon the decease of Mrs. Concklin, the unprotected 
state of the orphans was published in the newspapers, 
so that their kindred might come and take charge of 
them. Seth saw the papers. They gave him the first 
news of the death of his mother. He succeeded in ob- 
taining a discharge. His mother died in April, but he 
was not able to reach home till August. He found the 
children in the care of an aunt. His interest had been 
awakened in the Shakers, and he conceived the idea of 
putting his brothers and sisters in the charge of a 
Shaker community. 

With this intention he visited the Watervliet Shaker 
settlement not far from Albany, and was so much 
pleased with it, that he took the little ones, now every 
where known as " Scth's family," and enrolled them 
and himself as members of that community. The Coles, 
having had a daughter with five children come home 



SETH COXCKLIN. 387 

to live with them, gave up Eveline who joined the 
Shakers also. Seth remained with the Shakers three 
years, the children for a longer period. 

Upon leaving the Shakers, Seth went from place to 
place, finding employment now here, now there. He 
followed the business of a miller for some time in 
Syracuse and in Rochester and other places, never, in 
all his wanderings, losing sight of "his family," keep- 
ing always in correspondence with them. Everywhere 
he was accounted a singular man, eccentric, silent, "in 
the way of bargain, cavilling for the nintWpart of a 
hair," and yet generous as the day. Whenever any 
attempt was made to cheat him, he instantly appealed 
to the law, and, it is said, he never lost his suit. At 
the same time he would turn his pockets inside out to 
relieve the destitute. On one occasion his attention 
was arrested by a poor Irishwoman with a number of 
children, who told him how they had been turned into 
the street for rent, her husband being in jail on the 
same account. He asked the amount, and, upon learn- 
ing it, gave her what she wanted, but it was nearly all 
that he had. The woman immediately fell at his feet 
in the street and clasped his knees, and poured out, 
with Irish volubility, such a torrent of bles-ings and 
thanks that quite a crowd collected. Seth, much an- 
noyed, turned to get rid of her, and at last finding he 
could not silence her, he shook her off, exclaiming in 
a way that was characteristic of him : " Get away, you 
d— d fool I" 

From time to time, he visited his old friends the 
Shakers. (His youngest sister remains with them to 
this day.) Although, according to their rules, mem- 
bers who quit them, lose their membership, yet execp. 



338 APPENDIX. 

tions occur. And Seth, in consideration of his worth 
and eccentricity, was allowed again and again to return 
into full communion with the Society of Watervliet. 
It impressed him very strongly in favor of the Shakers 
that they did not recognize the distinction of color. 

It was after "his family" was settled among that 
people, at the very beginning of the abolition move- 
ment, that Seth Concklin began to take an interest in 
that odious cause. And it may be doubted whether it 
has ever yet had a more devoted adherent. He re- 
cognized it as the only hope of the Slave. He saw 
clearly, and from an early period through the Colon- 
ization scheme, how it concedes to the inhuman pre- 
judices of the country. He abhorred it as heartily as 
Mr. Garrison himself does. 

In a letter, dated July 20, 1830, written from Syracuse 
to his sister Eveline, he says, "Lest you might be 
deceived by that wicked spirit of the American Colon- 
ization Society, I take the liberty to inform you that 
the American Abolition Society is the only thorough 
good spirit which maintains the rights and privileges 
of colored people. Be not deceived by the Coloniza- 
tion Society, 

" They are as cunning as the devil can invent. 

" They rivet the chains of Slavery. 

" They put beneath them all mercy. 

" They deceive many honest white people by saying 
that they are friendly to the black population, and 
raise funds to send from this land of freedom and reli- 
gious liberty all free persons of color whom they can 
influence. Be not deceived by that dreadful demon 
spirit." 

All that he earned, beyond the means of his own 



SETH CONCKLIN. 389 

frugal subsistence, was given to the abolition cause. 
I find receipts of sums of five dollars and ten dollars 
from Seth Concklin, acknowledged in "the Emanci- 
pator." Sometimes be gave fifty dollars at a time, and 
once one hundred dollars. Once in Syracuse, and 
again in Rochester he was mobbed for taking the part 
of black men against white rowdies, and had to run for 
his life, and absent himself for days till their infuriated 
passions had cooled. At Rochester he dashed like 
lightning through the crowd and levelled the ring- 
leader who had got a rope round a poor colored man 
and was otherwise maltreating him, thus diverting the 
wrath of the mob to himself. That more than one 
mch case of the persecution of the colored people 
should have occurred years ago in Western New York, 
will seem improbable to no one who recollects, as many 
not very old persons may remember, what a time- 
honored custom it was, not very long since, in the 
enlightened city of Boston to drive all "the niggers" 
off the common on a certain State-Election holiday 
that occurred in the spring of the year. 

On one occasion, early in the history of the Abolition 
movement, the people of Syracuse were outraged by 
the sudden and mysterious appearance among them of 
some Anti-Slavery tracts : no one knew whence they 
came. The place was thrown into as great an alarm 
as if combustibles and lighted lucifers had been found 
under every door. A public meeting w^as held to de- 
vise " summary proceedings." It was suspected that 
some emissary of Satan had alighted in the town. 
With the leaders of the meeting Seth Concklin was on 
terms of familiar acquaintance. He attended on the 
occasion ; but retired before the meeting was brought 



390 APPENDIX. 

to a close. Upon returning to their homes, the officers 
of the meeting, and all who had taken any conspicuous 
part in it, found the accursed tracts had been thrown 
into their doors, while they had been so patriotically 
engaged in seeing to the safety of the community. 
Wrath mounted to the highest pitch against the incen- 
diary, who, it was rumored, was a stranger putting up 
at the Syracuse House. Judge Lynch was invoked. 
Tar and feathers were got in readiness. No suspicious 
stranger was to be found ; but it was ascertained that 
the offender was an acquaintance of theirs, Seth him- 
self, who very wisely took care to retire from the 
scene. In a few days the excitement died away. 
Considering that the offence had been committed by 
no impudent stranger, but by one of their own neigh- 
bors, and by no other than so odd and honest a fellow 
as Seth Concklin, the people recovered their compo- 
sure so completely, that when he shortly returned 
among them, they shook hands with him over his 
escape. 

The subject of this brief memoir appears to have 
been a man who had " swallowed formulas." He was 
a law to himself. He took and kept his own counsel. 
On one occasion, a colored man, professing to be an 
agent for the Wilberforce Colony in Canada West, 
visited Western New York, collecting moneys from the 
charitable. He every where showed a book, impos- 
ingly bound in red morocco, in which the names of 
those who contributed to his object were recorded ; 
among them were the names of men well known and 
eminent. This book served as his passport and recom- 
mendation, and secured his success in the towns which 
he visited. Our friend Seth, having some suspicion of 



SETH CONCKLIN. 391 

this man's honesty when he came to Syracuse, watched 
him closely, and became convinced that he was an 
impostor. Eesolved that the community should be 
duped no longer, Seth disguised himself and followed 
the fellow, and overtook him in the neighborhood of 
Seneca Falls, and there, without being recognized, of- 
fered him a subscription, and when the red book was 
handed to Seth to put down his name, he took posses- 
sion of it, and refused to return it to the owner. The 
man complained of him before a magistrate; Concklin 
was held to bail for his appearance at the next General 
Sessions to answer to the charge of abducting this 
book, the property of another. His friends in Syra- 
cuse came promptly to his aid, and abundant testimony 
was furnished to his character for integrity and 
general correctness, The prosecutor, however, never 
appeared against him; and Concklin was considered 
as being right in his estimation of the man, and as 
having done the community a service, although he 
adopted a perilous and illegal way of arresting the 
depredations of an impostor. 

Not loner after this transaction, Concklin spent some 
time in the West, visiting St. Louis, and residing 
awhile at Springfield, (111.). His chief business then 
and there, a business which took precedence in his re- 
gard of all other matters, was aiding the transit of 
passengers on the Under-Ground Railroad. He acted, 
however, very little in concert with others. In a time 
of uniformity and conformity, when the tendency and 
fashion everywhere is to ride in troops, Seth Concklin 
was a man by himself. He went on his own hook. 
His fearless speech brought him into frequent peril 
On one occasion, he was condemning the "Patriarchal 



392 APPENDIX. 

Institution," in such strong terms, that one of his 
hearers struck him a heavy blow with his fist ; for 
which outrage Seth caused him to be arraigned before 
the Church to which the offender belonged, and com- 
pelled him to make confession of his fault. Although 
thus fearless, our friend was very cautious in com- 
municating with the slaves. He gave them no hope 
of his assistance, until he found that they were re- 
solved upon obtaining their freedom: then he gave 
them all possible information as to time of starting, 
and the places to which they should go, adding a small 
pecuniary gift, and bidding them never to be taken 
alive. 

While he thus felt for others, it was equally charac- 
teristic of him that he was resolved to see for himself. 
He has been known to go miles to ascertain the actual 
state of the case in any important matter. In 1838-39, 
the western part of New York was in a state of great 
excitement, caused by what was dignified at the time 
by the name of the " Patriot War," a border out- 
break. Concklin, true to his character, determined 
to go and see what it all amounted to. He knew that 
Canada was the refuge of the fugitive slave, and he 
was anxious that that refuge should be preserved for 
the oppressed. Leaving his business, he went straight 
to the frontier, crossed over to Navy Island, where the 
head-quarters of the Patriots then were, and enlisted 
with them, under the command of the so-called Gen. 
Van Eanssalaer. His purpose was to discover the de- 
signs and strength of the Patriots, and make them 
known to the Canadian authorities. After looking 
about him and satisfying himself as to the character 
and objects of the Patriot army, he desired to be dis- 



SETH CONCKLIN. 393 

missed from the service. But this was not permitted. 
His taciturn manners, his evident disinclination to 
associate familiarly with the people among whom he 
found himself, caused him to be suspected as a spy, 
and closely watched. Finding his situation more and 
more uncomfortable, he determined to escape from the 
island at all hazards. He waited one day till nearly 
dark, and, when the sentinel's back was turned 
towards him, he unfastened a skiff at the landing, and 
with no other oar than a piece of board, watched his 
chance and pushed off. He knew that if he should 
lose his paddle, he must be carried down the Niagara 
river and over the Falls, an appalling contingency. 
Scarcely had he started when he was seen and fired 
upon. The ball struck his paddle, nearly knocking it 
from his grasp. He succeeded, however, in reaching 
the American shore, at Schlosser, in safety. At this 
point a guard had been stationed by the Patriots, and 
he was forbidden to land. Compelled to acknowledge 
himself a deserter from Navy Island, he was seized 
and very roughly handled, and sent back to the 
island.* There, by order of Van Eanssalaer, he was 
confined and closely guarded in a log-house, which 
was so situated as to be exposed to the guns on the 
Canada side. He could save himself from being hit 
only by lying prostrate on the ground, as the sentinel 

* Another account says, that Concklin was taken by the 
American troops under Col. Worth, stationed, professedly to guard 
the neutrality of the United States, on Grand Island, which lies so 
near to Navy Island, that the " Patriots" called to the American 
forces and informed them that Concklin was a deserter ; and he 
was sent back, the United States' officer stipulating only that he 
should not be hurt. 

17* 



394 APPENDIX. 

who stood guard over him threatened to shoot him 
when he sought the protection of the breastwork, to 
which the sentinel himself had recourse. Several shots 
passed over him, within two or three feet of him, 
through the upper part of his prison. The Patriots 
said they intended the British should kill their own 

spy- 
On the evacuation of the Island by the Patriots, 

which took place about a week after Concklin was 
put in confinement, he was left behind — the only man 
in the place. It was the month of January. His suf- 
ferings from cold and hunger were severe. He was 
the last twenty-four hours without food. He tied his 
handkerchief to a pole, and took his station opposite 
the Canadian side. The signal was observed; and 
very soon a boat came off and took him in, and con- 
veyed him to Canada. There he was subjected to a 
very close examination by a board of officers. In 
answer to their inquiries, he gave them a minute ac- 
count of all that had occurred from his leaving Syra- 
cuse up to the hour of his examination. His state- 
ment was committed to writing by several different 
persons. The examination was repeated two or three 
times. He was well treated, and kindly provided for 
during the few days he remained on the Canada side. 
When the investigation was ended, and he was about 
to return to the States, it was proposed to him that he 
should swear to the truth of what he had stated. To 
this proposal he readily acceded. His affidavit was 
published in the papers at the time. When he arrived 
in Buffalo, he published a statement of his treatment 
by the United States officers on Grand Island in one 
of the leading journals of that city. And he also 



SETII CONCKLIN. 



395 



made complaint at the War Department in Washing- 
ton, forwarding to the Secretary a copy of his publica- 
tion in the Buffalo paper. The Secretary of War di- 
rected the District Attorney of the Northern District 
of New York to look into the case. That officer, 
living at a distance, caused some inquiries to be made 
in Syracuse in regard to the veracity of the complain- 
ant; and honorable testimonials to his uprightness 
were presented. The case, however, was never fol- 
lowed up. Concklin was, for a time, quite a lion at 
Buffalo, on account of his prominence in those border 

difficulties. 

Not many months after the affair at Navy Island, 
Concklin's interest was awakened in the events which 
were transpiring on our Southern border. He wanted 
to know what the United States Government was 
doing in Florida among the Indians there. The news- 
papers had much to say of our arms in that quarter 
Without consulting with any one, he resolved to visit 
that part of the country. As the best way of getting 
there, and learning what he wanted to know, he en- 
listed in the United States service. The first intima- 
tion of his whereabouts, which his friends in Syracuse 
received, was in the shape of abetter directed to one 
of them, which we here transcribe : 

" Talahasse, Middle Florida, May 9, 1840. 
"Joseph Savage: My object in writing to you is 
that it may be known in Syracuse where I am ; and I 
request that you write to me, I have heard nothing 
from Syracuse in a year. Direct your letter to Tala- 
hasse, Middle Florida. Should you receive this, and 



396 APPENDIX. 

the postage not be paid, let me know it. I am now 
fifty miles from the post-office. 

"Last fall I came from Pittsburgh, by way of New 
Orleans and the Gulf, to St. Marks, and eighty miles 
east of St. Marks, on the 6th of January, and entered 
on the campaign with the 1st and 6th Regiments, 
United States Infantry, a few dragoons and several 
companies of volunteers, on their way through all the 
hammocks in Middle Florida to the Suwannie river, 
hunting Indians. Near the end of January our forces 
met on the Suwannie river, below Old Town (for- 
merly an Indian Village destroyed by Jackson), oppo- 
site Fort Fanning, East Florida, having driven before 
us a few Indians, discovered in the Old Town ham- 
mocks. All the companies (now the 1st February) 
were directed back on their trails, scouting through to 
keep down the Indians. There does not seem to be 
any very formidable force of Indians in Florida ; and I 
believe that a part of the murders charged on the 
Indians are committed by the white settlers, and many 
of the public (official?) reports of the whites and the 
Indians being killed or taken are untrue. 

" Nearty all the white male settlers in Middle Flo- 
rida, over twelve years of age, receive from Govern- 
ment twenty -two dollars per month and rations. There 
is now a report that a man found in a hammock five 
Indians in the act of torturing, by fire, his son. He 
killed four of them, and the fifth ran away. Should 
this be published, you must believe it without proof. 
I believe these reports are only pretences to keep up 
this shameful war. 

" March 21st, I left a post near Old Town Hammock 
alone, unarmed, and travelled one hundred miles 



SETH COXCKLIN. 397 

through the plains and hammocks without seeing a 
human being in five days. This circumstance alone 
would convince uninterested people that there are not 
many Indians. 

"But I have further proof that no great danger is 
apprehended from the Indians, from the fact that a 
company of United States Infantry near Old Town 
Hammock, one of the most interior towns in Middle 
Florida, frequently send out scouting parties through 
the hammocks without loaded guns and without am- 
munition, though they carry their guns with them, but 
as a mere matter of form. I do not know that the 
blood-hounds find any Indians ; though it appears that 
in East Florida the dogs, the Spaniards, and our sol- 
diers have captured one old Indian. 

"Seth Concklin." 

In another letter of the same date, addressed to a 
brother-in-law in Philadelphia, he repeats the same 
particulars, and gives, in addition, some brief and 
striking instances of his observation. " I have seen," 
he writes, " some of the slaves on the north border of 
Middle Florida, They are much more intelligent than 
their owners, probably from their being from farther 

north." 

The following winter, Concklin appeared again un- 
expectedly in Syracuse. From that time till he went 
upon the chivalrous enterprise which cost him his life, 
he is believed to have resided principally in Troy, 
occasionally visiting "his family" and his sister Eve- 
line married, and resident in Philadelphia. More than 
once he made the journey from Syracuse to Phila- 
delphia, all the way on foot. He appears to have 



398 APPENDIX. 

commanded the confidence of all who knew him. He 
was a man of an " incorrigible and losing honesty," 
abhorring deceptions and injustice, and making every 
injured man's cause his own. Altogether he was a 
man of heroic character. His life was a romance — 
an heroic poem. 

A gentleman of Syracuse, with whom Concklin 
lived two years, states, that on one occasion he sent 
Seth fifty miles from home for a horse. He was pro- 
vided with money to defray his expenses to and fro 
by boat or stage. His employer was greatly surprised 
to see him returning leading the horse, instead of 
riding him. The saddle and a bag of oats were on the 
horse's back. He returned nearly all the money which 
had been given him for the expenses of the journey. 
It appeared that he had walked to the place where the 
horse was to be obtained in one day, on returning he 
took two days, as being encumbered with a horse, he 
could not walk so fast as without one. 

It is unnecessary to repeat here the story of the hu- 
mane and daring enterprise in which he lost his life. 
Various accounts of it went the rounds of the news- 
papers at the time. We give the following from a 
Pittsburgh (Pa.) journal, bearing date, Thursday morn- 
ing, May 29, 1851 : 

" A Singular Enterprise. — During the last trip 
of the steamer Paul Anderson, Captain Gray, she took 
on board, at Evansville, Indiana, a United States 
Marshal, having in custody an intelligent white man, 
named J. H. Miller, and a family of four slaves — 
mother, daughter, and two sons. Captain Gray sub- 
sequently learned from Mrs. Miller that he had been 



SETII CONCKLIN. 



399 



employed by some persons in Cincinnati to go to 
Florence, Alabama, and bring away this family of 
slaves— the woman's husband being in a free State. 
For this purpose, with a six-oared barge, procured at 
Cincinnati, Miller had gone down the Ohio and up the 
Tennessee River, to Florence, there laid in wait till an 
opportunity occurred, and privily taken away the 
family of slaves. The barge was rowed down the 
Tennessee, and up the Ohio, to the Wabash, and up 
that river till within thirty miles of Yincennes, where 
the party was overtaken and captured by the Marshal. 
The unfortunate Miller was then chained, to be taken 
back to Florence for trial and sure condemnation, by 
Alabama slave laws. The Paul Anderson having 
landed at Smithland, mouth of Cumberland Kiver, Mr. 
Miller made an attempt to escape from her to the 
steamer Mohican, lying alongside, but, encumbered by 
his manacles and clothing, was drowned. The body 
was recovered and buried about a week afterwards. 
The slaves went back to bondage. The barge was 
rowed down the Tennessee 273 miles, up the Ohio 100 
miles, and up the Wabash 50 miles, before the party 
were overtaken. Mr. Miller, we learn, had a sister 
and other relatives in or near Philadelphia. He was 
a mill-wright by occupation, and owned property in 
the neighborhood of Yincennes." 

So far the public press. As these accounts are very 
imperfect, a person was found who offered to go to 
Indiana and make such inquiries as might relieve, in 
some measure, the painful anxiety of Mr. Concklm's 
relatives and friends, and to obtain his remains, or, at 
least, if practicable, cause them to be disinterred and 



400 APPENDIX. 

examined. "We subjoin a copy of the written state- 
ment made by this agent of Mr. Concklin's friends. 

Statement. 

Mr. Chandler (I think), at Evansville, in answer to 
a question as to his knowledge of Miller and the ab- 
ducted negroes, said, I could obtain information of 
John S. Gavitt, the former Marshal of Evansville. 
lie (?) himself believed and told the parties at the 
time, that the proceedings by which Miller was taken 
out of the State were illegal, and if such things were 
to be tolerated, no white man was safe. 

I next called upon John S. Gavitt, who treated me 
very respectfully, and seemed not only willing but 
anxious to impart every information. He told me 
that he had Miller and the negroes in custody, and 
that he delivered them on board the steamboat, in care 
of Mr. John Emison, of Evansville, to be delivered to 
the authorities in Florence, Alabama. I asked him by 
what authority they were taken. He said he had the 
writs in his possession, made out by Martin Kobinson, 
Esq., of Vincennes. I asked to see them. He showed 
them to me. I asked for the privilege of copying 
them. This he would not permit, for the reason, he 
said, that he believed, "We've all been guilty of 
illegal proceedings, and if it's brought out, I don't want 
to give our enemies any advantage." He said, it was 
no more he than others. " I believe," said he, " we've 
all done wrong." The writ for the apprehension of 
Miller was based upon an affidavit by the aforesaid 
John S. Gavitt, before Squire Eobinson, in which he 
swears that Miller abducted from B. McKiernan, of 
Florence, Ala., the four negroes. And the writ or- 



SETH CONCKLIX. 101 

dered the said Gravitt to take the said Miller and safely 
deliver him to the Sheriff in said Florence, to be dealt 
with according to law. The authority quoted, I think, 
was, Sec. 1, No. 62 of the 'Statutes of Indiana. (I 
wrote from memory, not being permitted to copy.) 
The other writ for returning the negroes was made, I 
think, upon the affidavit of James M. Emison, the man 
who first took them up on suspicion. The said James 
M. Emison is not an officer. 

I asked Gravitt how he could know the circum- 
stances stated in the writ well enough to make such 
an oath ? He then stated substantially as follows : 
That on or about the 28th of March last, he received 
a dispatch from Yincennes, stating that four negroes 
had been taken up on suspicion, with the man Miller. 
He in turn telegraphed South, and soon got returns 
describing the negroes and Miller. He started at once 
for Vincennes, and drove the whole distance (55 miles) 
in six hours. He says he made the oath because he 
was convinced from the description by telegraph, and 
from conversations with the boy Levin, that they were 
the same. There seemed to be an indistinctness and 
confusion in Gavitt's statements, and though I con- 
versed with him two hours, and he freely answered 
all questions, I did not fully rely on him. For in- 
stance, he would state at one time that he believed 
Miller perfectly honest and conscientious in his course ; 
yet, at another time said, that Miller owned to him that 
he was to get $1,000 for the job. He says, his main 
effort, while Miller was in his charge, was to get him 
to turn State's evidence, and upon that condition agreed 
to let him go. This Miller positively refused to do, 
thongh he confessed that there were four others con- 



402 APPENDIX. 

concerned with him. He said Miller offered him 
$1,000 if lie would let him go. The reward off- 
ered for Miller, he said ; was $600, and $400 for 
the negroes. The story that Miller told him was, 
that the negroes were his — his brother in Hender- 
son (Kentucky) having emancipated them after they 
should have worked upon his farm near Spring- 
field (Illinois) a certain length of time. He says 
Miller had shaved his whiskers, and cut off his hair 
after he was first discovered by James M. Emison. 
When he was about putting him on the boat, Miller 
calleel him aside and told him he v^ould give the names 
of his accomplices if he would let him go. He told 
him it was too late then, upon which Miller became a 
perfect picture of despair, and walking suddenly to the 
side of the boat, he thought, with a determination to 
throw himself overboard, but was caught by John 
Emison. Understanding that while Miller was in 
custody of Gavitt, he was kept at the house of Mr. 
Sherwood (a relative), the present Marshal of Evans- 
ville, and that he had conversation with Gavitt's 
mother, I requested to have her called in. She said 
she felt very sorry for him, and tried very hard to get 
him to turn State's evidence ; but he said, nobody was 
to be blamed in the affair but himself, and that he was 
not at all sorry for what he had done ; he had done 
his duty — a Christian duty — and felt a clear conscience. 
Gavitt said that McKiernan told him that Miller should 
be hung if it cost him $1,500. 

Further evidence was procured from the office of 
the Evansville Journal. 

From Evansville to Princeton, and thence to Yin- 



SETII CONCKLIN. 403 

eennes, I went in company with Col. Clark and son, 
of the latter place. He (the Col.) gave a statement of 
the affair, which made it take quite another direction 
from Gavitt's story. He placed Gavitt in no very en- 
viable light. He said that there was a jar between 
him (Gavitt) and the Emisons about the spoils. Of 
course the sending back of the "d— d Abolitionist" to 
Alabama, was all right with him (the Colonel). 

Having been directed by Gavitt to call on Mr. John 
Emison, in Vincennes, I did so. He was pointed out 
to me in the street as the stage agent, or, perhaps, 
proprietor. I called him aside, and told him that, 
having some business in Vincennes, I had been re- 
quested by a friend of Miller's friends to make inquiry^ 
concerning him ; upon which the said John Emison 
broke forth in a strain like the following : " Now, my 
friend, you'd better be pretty d— d careful how you 
come into this place and make inquiry about such 
men as Miller." " You've waked up the wrong pas- 
sengers." "And you might get yourself into the 
"Wabash river." "If you'll take my advice as a 
friend, you'd better leave town on pretty d — d short 
notice." "We don't allow any G— d d— d Aboli- 
tionist going about this town," &c, &C., with many 
other extras too numerous to mention. I told him 
my object in making inquiry of him was a specific one 
—solely to gratify, or rather to satisfy, Miller's friends, 
and if such a course was likely to produce a disturb- 
ance in the place, I was very sorry. But out of 
respect to those who entrusted the inquiries to me, I 
felt bound to learn what I could. Emison partially 
apologised for his haste, and said he was mad at the 
d — d Abolitionists on the Paul Anderson, who threat- 



404 APPENDIX. 

ened to throw him overboard. (See Evamville Journal, 
p. 2*1.) He said he felt for Miller, as deeply as any- 
body could — that he was courageous, and that anybody 
that was bold enough to jump overboard deserved to 
get away. " But," said he, " he's dead and buried — 

he's gone to with his manacles on, so you'll 

know him when he comes up in the resurrection." 
He said he would let me have a letter, which he had 
received from the young Mr. McKiernan, containing 
further evidence of Miller's death, in addition to the 
letter from Hodge. 

Mr. Chandler, of whom I first spoke, told me that 
he was informed by Gavitt that the lawyer, who. had 
taken a fee from Miller of some $50, or $80 (as some 
said) — when Miller was brought into court, said law- 
yer refused to undertake his case — having received a 
fee of $25, from the other party. I asked Gavitt about 
this : he said it was true, for he had paid him the $25 
himself, though he could not tell me what the man's 
name was. 

William T. Scott, sheriff and jailor of Knox Co., 
told me the slaves were brought to the jail in the 
morning (Friday, I think), and the request made by 
James Emison, that they should be put in: he admit- 
ted them, though he told me he knew he had no busi- 
ness to do so. Said Emison & Co. told him they had 
taken the negroes the previous morning about day- 
light, as they were crossing a bridge. Miller soon 
came up, and claimed them as his — they had been 
liberated by his brother, in Henderson, Ky., and were 
to serve for him a certain time near Springfield. 
They took the negroes and bound them, and upon 
Miller's threatening them with law, they took him 



SETH COXCELIX. 405 

also, and bound him and put him in the -wagon 
with the rest. After riding five or six miles, and 
listening to the logical reasoning of Miller, they began 
to be alarmed, lest they might be doing something 
wrong in thus binding a white man, without due pro- 
cess of law T , so they untied him and let him go. He, 
however, still continued to follow the wagon, and, it 
being still dark, before they were aware, Miller was 
in the wagon untying the negroes. When they dis- 
covered this, they threatened to shoot him if he should 
again attempt it. Miller still followed the wagon to 
Vincennes, where the slaves were committed to jail as 
above. A telegraphic dispatch was sent to Gavitt 
aforesaid, at Evansville, and by him sent South, from 
whence he obtained an answer "as before stated. 
Gavitt went to Yincennes, with evidence sufficient to 
warrant their being sent back ; but would not give 
the evidence, or make any move in the premises, till 
Emison & Co. had agreed to give him one half of the 
reward. This agreed, the oath w r as made, and Miller 
arrested, under a law of the State, for detaining fugi- 
tives from their lawful owners. Previous to this, and 
I think on the same day, Miller had taken out a habeas 
corpus, under which the slaves were said to be de- 
livered ; but Judge Bishop, associate judge for the 
circuit, remanded them to jail till the next day at 12 
o'clock — of course without any claim to law, but (with) 
merely a suspicion that by that time evidence might 
be obtained that they did not belong to themselves. 
"When Gavitt arrived, and Miller was taken as afore- 
said, his lawyer, Allen, appeared in his behalf, and the 
proceedings against him were quashed. After this, 
Miller was remanded bach to jail, though Allen says 



406 APPENDIX. 

it was done by his (Miller's) own request, that he 
feared the mob, &c. While Miller was thus in jail, 
the owner arrived, and found his work all made ready 
to his hand. True, a little more swearing was needed 
to prove Miller the abductor of the negroes, but it was 
readily furnished by Marshal Gavitt. Scott says that 
a young man now in jail, and with whom Miller talked 
freely, says, he (Miller) had a quantity of gold coin 
quilted into the collar of his coat. Scott thinks it was 
not so, as he himself searched him. Scott says, Miller 
told him that he had only one thing to regret in the 
transaction, and that was that he had not pursued his 
own course, and refused to listen to the advice of 
others. He says the negroes were well trained, and 
all told the same • story with Miller until the master 
came, when they owned him — at least all of them but 
Peter. Upon Miller's second sham trial, he owned all 
the facts in the case, and pleaded justification. He 
was asked why he undertook the work without being 
armed : he said, if he had carried weapons he should 
have probably felt a strong inclination to use them, and 
in that case would certainly have been overcome ; con- 
sequently, he had not allowed himself even a penknife. 
I went to see C. M. Allen, Esq., to inquire about the 
two fees, and other matters. I told him that in justice 
to himself, some explanation should be given. He 
stated in substance as follows : " That on the morning 
of the day on which the negroes were brought into 
town, Miller came to his house very early — before he 
was up — he told the same story that he did to the cap- 
tors about the slaves of his brother, at Henderson, &c. ; 
and wished Allen to take out a habeas corpus to liber- 
ate the slaves. He told Miller that it was a trouble- 



SETH CONCKLIN. 407 

some case, and if he undertook it he should charge 
him a heavy fee. Miller asked, how much ? The re- 
ply was, one hundred dollars. Miller promptly said, 
' 1 won't give it,' As Mr. Miller was about to leave 
him, he called him back and told him it was a hard 
case to be placed in such a situation, and with but little 
means. lie showed his purse and counted his money 
before him. There was forty dollars, or perhaps a 
little over, in gold, silver and bills. Miller told him 
if he would undertake his case he would give him 
fifteen dollars. There followed a parley about the fee, 
and Mr. Allen did not tell me how much he received ; 
but he said he told Miller, if he hud not told him the 
truth, that he should abandon' his case at any time, 
whenever that should appear. So when Miller was 
brought into court, after the arrival of McKiernan, he 
refused to act for him, because the evidence seemed so 
strong that Miller had misrepresented the thing to him. 
Allen, it appears, acted for Miller, in taking out the 
habeas corpus for the negroes, and also in Miller's trial 
on the indictment for breaking the law of Indiana ; 
both of which resulted in Miller's favor. Upon quasi i • 
ing the proceedings in the last named case, Allen made 
(i request of the judge that Miller should be remanded 
back to jail, upon his own request ; that he probably 
had his own reasons for such request. The judge told 
him that he did not know that he had any right to do 
so — if he would show him law for it, he would do so. 
Allen replied that he did not know that lie could — it 
was only Miller's request. The judge complied. Al- 
len gave it as a reason that he feared the violence of 
the mob, as the whole place was in a high state of ex- 
citement, While thus in jail, Ga'vitt came with his 



408 APPENDIX. 

telegraphic evidence and made the necessary oath to have 
Miller apprehended, and remanded to Alabama, as a 
fugitive from justice. 

Gavitt (who, it seems, had been into the jail, and 
tried to extort a confession from the negroes), told me 
that he stated to the court ('Squire Kobinson), that he 
was. aware that the testimony of colored persons was 
not admitted by law on such occasions, but wished to 
know if the court would do him the favor to listen to 
the statement of the boy Levin ? He ('Squire R.) said 
he would. The boy then owned in answer to questions 
put to him, that he was the slave of 'Master Kiernan,' 
and that he had come with Miller from South Florence, 
Ala. I asked Gavitt which he thought had the most 
weight with the court, his affidavit or the negro's state- 
ment ? His reply was : ' The nigger's story teas what 
done it. 1 I went to see 'Squire Robinson, and asked 
him to let me see the law by which Miller was remand- 
ed. He said there was a law shown him at the time, 
but he could not now tell what or where it was, as he 
kept no minute of the proceedings. 

A great many other little incidents were narrated 
during the four days that I was in Evansville, Prince- 
ton, and Vincennes, that might be elicited by ques- 
tions ; but I have given the most important, or at least 
that which I considered so. From the feeling mani- 
fested, I saw it would not be safe for me to go to 
Smithland to disinter the body, so I wrote to Mr. 
Hodge for the verdict of the Coroner's jury, and any 
other particulars as to identity which he might be able 
to give. Have not yet received an answer. 

(Signed), E. Jacobs. 

Cincinnati, June 11, 1851. 



SETH CONCKLIN. 409 

From these statements there can be no doubt that 
the body taken from the Ohio river, near Smithland. 
in irons, and buried in irons, was the body of Seth 
Concklin. But of the manner of his death, there is no 
direct evidence. Of all the conjectures that may be 
formed, the least probable is, that he was drowned in 
an attempt to escape. Daring as he was, he was never- 
theless a man of too much sagacity to have dreamed 
of escaping by the water, cumbered as he was with 
manacles. The most probable state of the case was 
that, seeing how utterly hopeless the prospect was for 
him, if he once entered the Southern country, he tore 
himself from the savage clutch of cruel men, and 
threw himself upon the mercy of God. The suspicion 
of foul play which is involuntarily awakened, is put at 
rest by the consideration that his captors had no 
temptation to murder him. They knew perfectly well 
their own Slave laws, and must have been only too 
eager to carry him back alive and make an example 
of him, to the terror of their slaves and of all who 
should think of helping them to escape. 

Although he was buried as he was found, in chains, 
and was branded with the name of " negro thief," and 
his captors exulted in their blood-stained rewards, yet 
in the sight of Truth and of Heaven, he is joined to 
the noble and heroic company of the martyrs, the 
martyrs of Freedom and Humanity. 



